


Counsels in Rivendell

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Other - Freeform, Plot - Bittersweet, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2003-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

  
"What manner of creature are they, _hiril nín_? Dwarves?"

"Nay, my friend. They are Halflings, or Hobbits, if one were to use their own tongue."

"Hobbits?" A silvery peal of Elvish laughter rang out. "I suppose it suits them well enough. They are rather bedraggled, are they not?"

"As even you would be, had you travelled their path, Luinil," Nîndorien watched through the ornate railings of the balcony, as three small figures were welcomed by handmaidens of the Lady of Rivendell and led to their chambers. "I have heard that there is a fourth, lying gravely injured upstairs, and indeed there is a fifth who dwells here. He is a great friend of the Lord Elrond."

"Why have they come here?" Luinil asked curiously.

"I do not know, my friend, nor would I wish to be privy to such information. Sorrow seems to lie heavy on those who share this secret and dark shadows pursue them. But come now! It is not seemly for us to skulk in corners, gossiping like handmaidens."

"I must hasten to Lady Undómiel and deliver such messages as have arrived from the Lady of Lothlórien," Luinil said. "I have delayed too long!"

"As you wish, Luinil, I shall join you presently. Please inform Arwen of the travellers' arrival." Nîndorien stood up straight, smoothing her dress with her hands, and descended the sweeping stairs to the entrance hall. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, a tall fair-haired Elf entered through the main doors, accompanied by a travel worn Mortal.

"My Lady Nîndorien, it is a pleasure to behold you again after such long and strenuous wanderings," he cried, as he stepped forward to kiss her hand.

"My Lord Glorfindel, it embarrasses me that you, of all Elves, should address me so formally," Nîndorien bowed her head politely, acknowledging his greeting. "You are one of the mightiest Elf lords to have walked Middle Earth. I recall when I was little more than a child, songs of Glorfindel the Beloved and the Fall of Gondolin would be sung in Nan-tathren. Many an Elfling drifted to sleep to the songs of your great deeds!"

"Hardly soothing lullabies, I should think!" smiled the Elf Lord. "But how else should I address the lady of a most beloved king, and the kin of the Lord Ecthelion?" he asked more seriously, with barely concealed sorrow in his eyes. " _Hiril nín_ ," he persisted with his formal manner, "I believe you are acquainted with Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

Nîndorien's hands flew to her mouth in surprise. "I did not recognise you, Dúnadan! But you are weary, I see. I fear you carry a heavy burden of toil and sorrow. Come, I will show you to your lodgings and then perhaps we may find the Lady Undómiel who has been impatiently awaiting your return!"

Aragorn smiled. "I can hardly imagine Arwen displaying impatience, Lady Nîndorien"

"Indeed!" laughed Nîndorien. "Impatience is an unbecoming trait in an Elf of almost three thousand years but I distinctly saw her gazing out of the window on more than one occasion! I believe she may even have sighed as she did so."

Despite Aragorn's tiredness, he smiled and his face lit up. "You are kind to say such things although I doubt that Arwen would thank you for making such observations. I shall go now to my chambers, and then shall I seek my beloved. Nay, there is no need to accompany me; I know the way well!" He departed, leaving the two Elves in the silent entrance hall.

"Surely you too seek refreshment, _hîr nín_?" Nîndorien queried. "I believe that there is food prepared in the smaller reception chamber."

"My thanks, Lady Nîndorien, but I have been charged to report at once to Lord Elrond. Know you where he is?" asked Glorfindel.

"I believe he is in his chambers, with Mithrandir, tending to the fallen halfling," said Nîndorien. "I saw them carry the wounded hobbit thither after the rising of the waters of Bruinen. Lord Glorfindel," she hesitated. "I do not wish to pry but I sense that he brings great danger. Is it -?"

"Ay, it is what Lord Elrond feared."

Nîndorien covered her face. " _Ai_ , would that the accursed object has been destroyed years ago! Then the sacrifices of our people would not have been in vain."

Glorfindel placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke gently. "There is yet hope, Nîndorien. I know of whom you think, and I urge you never to believe that his sacrifice was in vain. If not for him, the land would already be covered in darkness."

"Perhaps it is so," whispered the Lady. Glorfindel gently took her hands from her face and clasped them within his own.

"It is most assuredly true. I wish I could stay with you but I have business to attend to with Lord Elrond. Go to the Lady Undómiel, I entreat you. You should not remain alone. Later, you and I shall talk at greater length, I promise." Glorfindel bowed and departed.

Nîndorien stood motionless in the hall for a few moments, looking for all the world like a carven image of some ancient noble Elf. She came to and shook herself slightly, before she sought out Arwen and Luinil. They were in Arwen's quarters, in the company of many of Undómiel's handmaidens, who laughed and sang in carefree manner. She sat among the Elven maidens, allowing their laughter to sweep over her as she picked up some needlework. Sorrowful thoughts lay heavy on her mind, but she smiled slightly and nodded her head when Arwen looked at her questioningly. The Lady of Rivendell visibly brightened and looked ever towards the door, waiting for the sound of the footsteps of a messenger who would inform her that her lord had returned and wished to see her.

* * *

When all the maidens had departed for their evening meal, Nîndorien walked through the passageways of Rivendell, seeking Glorfindel. As she moved silently across a deserted hall, she caught a glimpse of some movement in a dark corner. She stooped down and peered into the shadows, her Elven ears detecting the sound of breathing.

"Hello?" she asked uncertainly. "Who goes there?"

A short figure stepped forward out of the darkness and spoke in trembling tones. "Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am. I was looking for my master's room and I got lost."

Nîndorien smiled. "Fear not, it is easily done here in Rivendell. Even I, who have dwelt here for much of the Third Age, do not know all its secrets. My name is Nîndorien and I would venture that you are one  
of the four brave hobbits who arrived in our midst today."

Even in the half-light, Nîndorien could see that a blush was creeping across the halfling's cheeks. Somewhat clumsily, he bowed low. "My name is Samwise Gamgee, although people usually just call me Sam."

"Welcome to the House of Elrond, Samwise Gamgee. May you find some peace here."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I hope you won't think I'm bein' rude, but I shall not rest easy, even here, until I hear some news of my master."

"Ah, the injured Halfling? I shall take you to his chambers and speak with Lord Elrond. I am sure he would not object to you being at your master's side, certainly not when you have travelled so far with him."  
Nîndorien straightened up and held out her hand. The hobbit rose from his cowering position and walked at her side. Soon he was chattering away unreservedly. "I always told Mr Frodo, and Mr Bilbo before him, that I wanted to see the Elves. I never thought that I'd ever be here of all places." He chuckled to himself. "I wonder what old Sandyman would say if he saw me now. There'd be less of his lip, that's for sure."

"And now that you have seen us, what do you make of the Elves, Samwise?" asked Nîndorien gently. "Are we as you expected?"

Sam scratched his head thoughtfully. "Yes and no, I suppose."

Nîndorien laughed. "A truly Elvish response, Master Gamgee."

"I'll try to explain but I don't have much of a way with words. You need Mr. Frodo for that." Sam paused, thinking deeply. "I always took Elves to be free of cares, laughing and singing all the day long."

"There are many such Elves here," said Nîndorien softly, thinking of the light-hearted maidens who served Undómiel, filling the room with prattling nonsense and harmless chatter.

"Yes, Ma'am," agreed Sam, "They're not all like that though. There are some who seem awfully sad and though they look young, their eyes are old. I suppose that a few thousand years will do that to someone." Nîndorien agreed in her mind, surprised at the young hobbit's power of perception. He went on. "Then, there are others, like the Lord Glorfindel. He seemed to be full of power, like there was some magic about him. He wasn't afraid of them Ringwraiths, you know."

"Indeed?" Nîndorien asked. "I believe he came across them before, many years ago. He put their leader to flight then, so perhaps it is not surprising that they do not strike fear into his heart."

Sam walked in silence for a while, mulling over her words, all the while taking in his surroundings. At last they came to the door of Elrond's chambers. Nîndorien knocked gently and Mithrandir opened the door, concern evident on his face.

"Ga-Gandalf!" cried Sam, utterly astonished to see the wizard standing before him.

"Master Gamgee, my dear hobbit," Gandalf leant down and embraced Sam. "You have done well, better than even I could have hoped. As always, my Lady Nîndorien," he said turning towards the Elf, "these hobbits have managed to surprise even Gandalf the Grey, who thinks himself well-versed in Hobbit lore."

"How fares the other?" asked Nîndorien.

"It is too early to say, I fear," sighed the Istar. "Lord Elrond is prepared to work through the night, however, and while he still has hope so do we all."

"Whatever befell him?"

"He was stabbed in the shoulder by the blade of a Nazgúl. Lord Elrond believes that a piece of the blade is still within his body, working its way ever inwards."

"Can I see him?" burst out Sam, unable to remain silent, tears starting to form in his eyes.

"Yes, Mithrandir, can Samwise remain with him? I do not know if it will speed the other's recovery but it will certainly set Sam's mind at piece."

"Very well," said Gandalf. "I should have known that Sam would not rest without seeing his master. Come Samwise, let us enter."

"Excuse me, Mithrandir," said Nîndorien suddenly, remembering the original purpose for her wanderings. "Is Glorfindel within?"

"No, my Lady. I think he has removed to the Hall of Fire. The sons of Elrond have lately arrived in Rivendell so no doubt there will be much celebration among their father's people."

* * *

Nîndorien hurried off, leaving Sam in Mithrandir's company. Despite her haste, her footfalls were completely silent and she passed through the passageways of Rivendell like a soundless grey shadow. When she came to the Hall of Fire, she entered discreetly and immediately picked out Glorfindel among all the Elves who congregated there. He sat in a small alcove, removed from the merrymaking and seemingly content to observe the proceedings in solitude. As if aware of her eyes on him, he turned his head and smiled at her. When she approached, he stood up and kissed her hand gently before offering her the seat beside his. They sat in silence for a while, two grave and noble Elves listening to the dancing notes of a hymn to Elbereth. The sound of crackling flames could be heard under the gentle hub of conversation and the sweet notes of many harps, playing harmoniously together. Nîndorien looked around the Hall and saw the sons of Elrond speaking with their sister and Aragorn. Arwen sat as if on a throne, robed in green with a simple silver mesh cap on her head. She smiled up at Aragorn, who was now clad in Elven mail, with a fine cloak of Elvish make cast over his shoulders. He looked very much like a king of Men, attending his queen; far removed from the weary Ranger who had arrived in Rivendell a few hours previously. Glorfindel followed the line of Nîndorien's gaze and spoke softly.

"There is a great love between Estel and Undómiel."

"Indeed. I perceive that their love is strong," replied Nîndorien, turning to face the Elf-lord. She was surprised at the directness of his statement; usually Glorfindel was far more subtle in speech. "Theirs is the sort of love that would last even unto the world's end, were it not for the fate of Men. My heart is greatly saddened that their love will last only for the duration of one short Mortal life, when-"

"When it has the strength to outlast even the memories of the Eldar," finished Glorfindel, putting her very thoughts into words

"That is twice you have surprised me in one short conversation, _hîr nín_ ," said Nîndorien gravely, although her eyes sparkled as she placed her hand in Glorfindel's. "Although I suppose I should not be greatly astonished, for of all the House of Elrond I believe you know me best."

The Elf-lord smiled. "Perhaps it is just the perception that two lifetimes brings to one, _hiril nín_ , for I knew you in both."

"I was but a child in that other lifetime, _hîr nín_ , yet your coming in the Third Age did stir some memory within me and lit a spark of hope in my heart. It grieves me that you did not know the glorious and sorrowful days in Lindon."

"But I dwelled in Gondolin of old; there is no place in Middle Earth that can compare to the Hidden Rock."

"Ay, I believe it was so, though I remember not the court of Turgon." Once more Nîndorien looked towards the children of Elrond and the hope of Westernesse. Arwen was laughing; a musical sound that filled the hearts of those around her with delight.

"I know not how she laughs, when surely she knows that sorrows lie ahead of her. I admire her; that she has the courage to love one of the Edain, knowing that he must die while she lives out the Ages in grief, or else she shall choose to follow the path of Lúthien, and be sundered from the Eldar forever. How can he know what her love will cost? He cannot understand a truly eternal love."

 

"Do not think, _hiril nín_ , that the love of the Edain is any less strong than the love between the Eldar. It is like a powerful spark, short-lived yet blinding to all who look upon it. The love that grows between the Eldar is enduring; even the passage of the Ages cannot shake it."

"But it is no less passionate than the love of the Edain."

"I did not say that it was any the less passionate, _hiril nín_ , but love cannot burn with the same strength for an eternity. When initial passions wane, a steadfast love endures like a slow-burning flame. Yet, you surprise me, when you speak of Arwen's courage."

"How so, _hîr nín_?" asked Nîndorien, raising her eyebrows with curiosity.

"You know what it is like to lose a loved one through death but you have prevailed over grief."

" _Hîr nín_ , I am surprised that you, of all the Eldar, should compare my situation with hers. The death of one of the Firstborn does not compare to the passing of the Atani. It is not a permanent state as well you know. I still have the hope that I may behold my beloved again." Nîndorien's voice became dreamlike. "I often imagine that my love waits for me on the shores of Valinor and although I know it is not my time to depart these shores, I can take comfort in that. What comfort will Arwen have when the time comes for her to part from her lord?"

"I understand what you say but even the wisest among the Children of Ilúvatar cannot say what becomes of the spirits of Men when they die. It may be that they can leave their pain behind when they pass into the grave, but that their love endures beyond the circles of the world. When the spirit of an Elf passes to the Halls of Mandos, it brings with it a lifetime's worth of love and pain. There, it can spend an eternity with such memories. Many years of Arda may pass, spent in contemplation and mourning, before the spirit of an Elf is permitted to leave the care of Mandos, if indeed it is allowed to leave at all." Glorfindel sat for a few moments in quiet thought.

"I apologise, _hîr nín_ ," Nîndorien bowed her head humbly. "I did not intent to stir such memories."

"Nay, it matters not, my dear," Glorfindel smiled upon her. "I merely wish to impress upon you the power of the many kinds of love that exist. Even the love the gallant sons of Elrond hold for you is pure and lasting."

"Indeed, _hîr nín_ ," Nîndorien's face brightened as she looked fondly on the two identical Elves. She had dwelt in Rivendell since before the time of their birth, and when they were mischievous Elflings, a single soft word from her served to calm their rambunctious behaviour, where a dozen strong words from their father had no such effect.

"They look upon you with much love and respect, almost as though you were a parent to them.

"You are most flattering, but all three of the children of Elrond knew two of the most loving parents I have ever seen. My presence in their lives cannot compare to that. But I admit that I do look upon them as I might have looked upon my own children."

"You never bore a child of your own?"

"No," she sighed. "For much of the Second Age, my beloved and I were content in each other's love, and we needed no other. The realms of Elves being what they are, there was no demand for an heir to the kingdom. With the passage of time, my heart yearned for a child of my own, but my lord had been granted some measure of foresight and he bade me wait. He feared that any child of ours would grow up without a father, and neither of us could risk that. Woe that he was proven right."

"Now it is I who must apologise to you for provoking such melancholic memories," said Glorfindel.

"Indeed you must not, _hîr nín_!" cried Nîndorien. "I do not regret any of the choices I or my beloved made, save one." A shadow crossed her face. "But now is not the time to speak of such things. I thank you though for speaking with me. I cannot fully comprehend the love between Undómiel and Estel."

"None of us can," interjected Glorfindel softly. "The heart of the Eldar cannot properly perceive the fleeting nature of the Edain, for our hearts, once given, are bestowed irrevocably and unreservedly, for good or ill, until the end of Arda."

"But I begin to see that its transience does not make mortal love is any the less worthy. And it is not confined to the world of Men. Do you know, Glorfindel, that I met one of the Halflings? He would not rest until he had found his master. Truly they must have great hearts, despite their short stature. His love for his master was touching and caused me to think anew about mortal affection."

"Indeed, they are creatures of stout heart," agreed Glorfindel, "and while their type abides in Middle Earth, and while love lasts among the Edain, I do not think that any sacrifice of the Eldar was made in vain. Their lives may run a limited course but their love does not."  
Feeling much more at rest, Nîndorien smiled. Once more, she sat back, her hand still in Glorfindel's and allowed the crackling of the flames to fill her mind again. She closed her eyes, only to be rudely disturbed.

"Well, brother, if it isn't a tragedy to see the Lady Nîndorien and the Lord Glorfindel sitting thus silently in our father's hall!"

"I agree, brother! It is inconceivable that neither bears a harp, nor brightens up the night with their song. _Oiorillë_ , why do you not sing?"

"Elladan and Elrohir! How wonderful to see you again," cried Nîndorien. She stood up and embraced them, and laughed joyously when in turn, they lifted her clear off the ground and swung her in the air. "I was in deep council with the Lord Glorfindel, but now I long to hear your tales."

The twin sons of Elrond sat at her feet and regaled her with stories of the wilds and they begged her to tell them of all that had passed in Rivendell since their departure. Glorfindel sat and watched for a while, before silently retreating from the room, leaving the happy party to laugh among themselves. As he stepped out of the hall, he could hear the familiar sound of Nîndorien singing a song of an ancient love. He glanced back, and she caught his eye. The gratitude in her eyes was evident and he smiled, glad to have soothed her mind with his words. As he melted into the inky black shadows he sighed, for there was still one secret buried deep in his heart that he would never impart.

****  
Translations:

_hîr nín_ – my lord  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _Oiorillë_ \- Ever Brilliant


	2. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

  
Nîndorien stood at the entrance to Rivendell, to bid farewell to the sons of Elrond, as had been her custom ever since the day they had ridden off in fury to rescue their mother from a den of Orcs. They were being sent off on some secret errantry by their father, and all she knew was that they were bound for the Silverlode. She had no wish to enquire further into their business. She kissed them both on the forehead, saying her customary words.

"Go now with haste, but most of all with care, and may the blessings of the Valar be upon you and the stars of Elbereth shine over your path."

She sighed as they turned from her, their eyes mirror images of regret at their parting, but eagerness to be abroad in the land once more. She passed back towards the Great Hall and from within she could hear the sounds of a great feast. The injured halfling had risen for the first time today, and all of Rivendell celebrated his recovery. Nîndorien paused at the door before moving away once more. She had no wish to join in the festivities and removed instead to the Hall of Fire, where she might spend time in quiet contemplation before it, too, became crowded and noisy. As she entered, she saw a familiar-looking figure, huddled against the wall.

"Greetings, Master Baggins. I see that you too have decided not to attend the feast."

"Lady Nîndorien, it is a pleasure to meet you; our paths do not cross much here in Rivendell. Forgive the rudeness of an old hobbit for not rising to greet a fair Lady of the House of Elrond, but I am at last feeling my age, and my joints and limbs do not obey my will!"

"You are but youthful by the standards of my kind, Master Baggins," she replied smiling, "but pray, rest a little, for I have no doubt that your young relatives will be glad to renew old acquaintances. How do you come to be sitting so silently?"

"I am trying to compose a song, my Lady," said Bilbo, feigning great concentration although his eyes sparkled at the thought of speaking with Frodo once more.

"And what is the subject of this song, might I enquire?"

"A song of Eärendil, the Blessed Mariner."

"I should very much like to hear what you have to sing about him," said Nîndorien, "for he and I were both born in Gondolin ere its fall, and, when we had escaped the city, I dwelled long by the mouth of Sirion, with Tuor and Idril Celebrindal and then under the leadership of Eärendil and Elwing. I can remember Eärendil well, for I used to sing to him beside my uncle’s fountains."

"Then, later you must tell me what you think! Although, perhaps to sing a song of Eärendil in the house of Elrond is a little risky!" Thus chuckling, Bilbo returned to his thoughts and Nîndorien went to the alcove in which she had sat with Glorfindel on the night that Frodo had arrived among them. Soon, she was lost in memories of a distant past and she paid no heed when the Hall began to fill up with Elves and the guests of Elrond. Once more, Lord Glorfindel sat beside her, and she smiled up at him. They spoke no words but sat in comfortable silence listening to the laughter and songs. After a while, the voice of Bilbo could be heard, and he sang his song of Eärendil. Nîndorien listened carefully from start to finish and laughed to see Bilbo engaging in light-hearted banter with Lindir, one of the Elves of Rivendell. She was soon distracted by an Elf maiden who approached her silently, shyly proffering a harp.

"Will you not sing for us, Lady Nîndorien?"

Nîndorien took the harp and glanced at Glorfindel, who nodded with encouragement. The Elves of Rivendell loved to hear the voice of Nîndorien, especially when she sang songs of old. She began to sing, noticing the halflings quietly leaving the Hall. Her clear voice lifted high with a song of the Blessed Realm.

_*A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!  
_  
***

The following morning, Nîndorien walked restlessly through the passageways of Rivendell. The distant ringing of a bell reached her ears; the council was about to begin. Earlier, Nîndorien had met Glorfindel and Erestor, chief among Elrond's councillors, in deep conversation as they made their way to the council. They had looked more grave than usual, and stirred some feeling of apprehension deep inside Nîndorien, though she knew not why. It seemed that the world was changing and she ill-understood the turmoil that raged in the hearts of those who had arrived in Rivendell. She came to an oaken door and stopped suddenly, as she could hear two strange voices inside the room.

"Let me see, Merry."

"I think it is Gil-galad. You know, the king that Sam was singing about. I don't think Strider was pleased to hear that song, for it was a little disheartening"

Nîndorien opened the door gently, and saw at once who the speakers were - two more Halflings.

"Good morning," she said gently as she closed the door behind her. Both hobbits jumped and she laughed. "Nay, do not be alarmed. You do no wrong. This is the Long Room, where a great many of Lord Elrond's manuscripts and books are kept. All are welcome to enter and peruse the books and maps that are here. My name is Nîndorien, and I believe I am correct in assuming that you are Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, although which name belongs to which hobbit, I do not know."

"I am Peregrin, although usually people call me Pippin." The younger hobbit stepped forward, fears forgotten. "And this is my cousin, Merry."

"Well met, my friends," Nîndorien bowed her head in greeting. She glanced at an open book that lay in front of the hobbits. "Were you reading this book?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Merry, having recovered his powers of speech. "Although it is all in Elvish, and Pippin and I are poor scholars of the language. Can you tell us who this is?"

Nîndorien traced over the image on the page with her fingers. "It is Gil-galad, last of the High Kings of the Noldor, and the book relates the tale of the Last Alliance, in which he fought and died." She studied the picture more closely and said softly, "Ay, it is a good likeness."

"Did you know him?" asked Pippin, astounded. "I had always thought that that battle happened years ago!"

"And you are right, Master Took. It took place long before your kind settled in the fair Shire," she replied. The hobbits were surprised that she knew of their home. She smiled although her eyes were solemn as she whispered, "But I was alive, even then, and I knew Gil-galad. Indeed it was here in Rivendell where I last beheld him, marching at the head of a great host, with Lord Elrond at his side, bearing the banner of the High King. Thus they went to war, and not all returned."

"War?" asked Merry and he shivered. "Do you think it will come to that again? I do not think I should have the courage for battle."

Nîndorien thought for a moment before speaking carefully. "Great things are afoot in Middle Earth, and even the smallest beings will have a role to play. I believe that there will be war and bloodshed before it is finally resolved, but we must put our trust in the decision of the Council of Elrond. Take courage, young hobbits, for the many of wise of Middle Earth sit yonder in council, and they shall decide on the best course of action. As to whether you still have a part to play, I do not know, but we must all prepare ourselves for changes and challenges. You shall not know the bounds of your courage until you have been tested, Meriadoc."

With those words, she turned and departed, and as she closed the door she could hear whispered words.

"Did you hear that? 'The wise of Middle Earth'? Should we have told her that Sam has sneaked in to the Council, Merry?"

Nîndorien laughed softly, and resumed her wanderings until the Council was over and she might speak with Glorfindel.

 

 

***

Later that day, when the council was over, Nîndorien walked with Glorfindel on the lawns of Rivendell. She looked up at the sprawling buildings, and could make out Gandalf speaking with the hobbits through a ground-floor window.

"The more I speak with the halflings, the more impressed I am with their spirits. They seem ever-cheerful, even though they are nervous about what lies ahead."

"As are we, my dear Lady. Shortly I shall depart Rivendell, for we must ensure that the Black Riders have been rendered shapeless and without steeds."

"Ah, must you also leave? I have already bid farewell to Elladan and Elrohir; I am loath to part from all my friends at once!"

"I must indeed go but fear not, I shall return before two moons have passed."

They walked in silence for a while, until they were interrupted by the noise of a horse fast approaching them. Glorfindel smiled as the great white horse came up to them, whinnying in welcome, and he stroked its ears and whispered to it. "Ah, Asfaloth, it seems that you and I must make another foray into the wild." Nîndorien smiled as the horse greeted its master with such love and trust.

"He shows no ill effects after his chase to the ford," she commented.

Glorfindel laughed. "It would take more than a mere race with those vile servants of Sauron to weary my friend here! He would carry me even to the black gates of Mordor with ne'er a stumble, if that were my wish." He turned to face Nîndorien, "but come now, _hiril nín_ , what troubles you so that you desire my counsel."

She looked at him sharply, "I did not beg your counsel."

"Nay, you need not speak the words," said the Elf-lord, smiling. "I trust I know you well enough to sense when you have misgivings."

"As always, you surprise me, _hîr nín_ ," she sighed. "In truth I know not why my heart is troubled. I had speech with the halflings and I bade them trust to the will of the Council, yet I cannot fully trust in it myself."

"Indeed? Do you then doubt the soundness of the advice that we imparted to Lord Elrond?"

"No, _hîr nín_. It is just that I have little hope. How can the Dark Lord be defeated by the strength of Men? He is a Maia. How can the Edain win through, where the Eldar before them have failed?"

"Have you no faith in the world of Men?" asked Glorfindel gravely.

"How can I, when it was by the hand of Man that the Last Alliance failed, and the threat of Sauron lives on?" As she said the words, it at last became clear to Nîndorien what was troubling her, although she had not known until she had spoken. She looked at Glorfindel, and could see the beginnings of understanding in his eyes.

"You still feel that the Last Alliance ended in failure, even though the Lord Elrond himself believes otherwise?"

She nodded mutely and Glorfindel placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke carefully. "It was no failure; the power of Sauron was overthrown, if not wholly vanquished. You cannot condemn a whole race for the misguided actions of one. Did not Elendil the Tall fall at the side of Gil-galad? They were both fighting for the same end, and even now it is nearly achieved. Do not blame the Edain, for they have fought bravely in all the ages of Middle Earth, even against the Old Enemy."

"I understand what you say, and indeed I long to put my faith in Men, for I perceive that we stand at the beginning of their time of dominion in the world. I feel that I do a disservice to them with these thoughts, but how can I believe otherwise?"

"What of Huor and Hurin, who sacrificed themselves so that the warriors of Gondolin survived the Nirnaeth Arnoediad? What of Tuor who led you and your mother, and the Gondolindrim to safety when all seemed lost?" Glorfindel's face grew stern and Nîndorien caught a glimpse of his hidden might, thinly veiled beneath the surface. By degrading Tuor's achievement in leading their people safe out of Gondolin with Idril Celebrindal, Nîndorien felt that she was also belittling Glorfindel's great sacrifice.

" I did not mean to wound you, but pray, do not be angry with me, Lord Glorfindel, I am trying to hope, but-" At this Nîndorien's voice wavered slightly. "I am ever grateful for Tuor's great deeds but always I think of the Last Alliance. I cannot but feel that they made a mockery of my own lord's sacrifice. All of his counsels and deeds were undone at the very cusp of victory. Now we must place our faith once more in the strength of Men, yet who now can live up to the deeds of Huor and Hurin, or Tuor, or even Elendil?"

"I am not angry with you _hiril nín_ , but it strikes me as strange that you should be so untrusting of Men when Gil-galad trusted them implicitly. By all accounts, he had great faith in them, and indeed, Lindon would have fallen were it not for the timely arrival of the ships of Númenor." Glorfindel paused. "There is one who can live up to the deeds of his forefathers."

"How can we be sure that Estel does not have the same weakness?"

To Nîndorien's surprise, Glorfindel laughed. "My dear Lady, if the Ring had any power over Aragorn, I do not believe that the halflings would have made it unscathed to Rivendell. The other evening, you and I spoke of love; well, it is love that carries Aragorn on. Love for Arwen, undoubtedly, but also love for his people and the belief that they will rise again, and that the line of Kings shall be restored, noble and just. Forget not that the blood of the Eldar runs in his veins, however distant."

"You speak the truth, "Nîndorien said humbly, "but how can I put blind trust in a race who pride power above all things?"

"I do not ask you for blind faith, _hiril nín_ ," said Glorfindel. "Although that is not necessarily the worst kind of faith. Note how Asfaloth will do my bidding because he trusts me without question. I must also reciprocate his trust, else I would never believe in his ability to carry me safely."

"Ah, but Asfaloth is a horse, _hîr nín_!" laughed Nîndorien. "How can he question you? He is a fine animal but, alas, without the power of speech!"

Glorfindel smiled and stroked Asfaloth's ear. "It is good to see you smile, _hiril nín_ , but it is unjust of you to insult my steed thus! I know you are not deliberately misinterpreting me, but let me give another example. The hobbits put their faith in Aragorn in Bree. He led them hither, defending them from the Black Riders, with little thought for his own safety. He has more than repaid their trust in him. Can you not also put your trust in him? He cares not for power, although it will surely come to him if this quest is successful. He is like the Men of old, and perhaps he will even surpass them in stature, for a great burden is laid upon him and if he falls, so shall the world of Men."

The two Elves look up and realised they were nearing the house once more. They stopped and Nîndorien spoke in a low voice, lest anyone should hear her. "Once again, my Lord Glorfindel, I must thank you for speaking with me. I apologise for my words, if they wounded you."

"Do not apologise, _hiril nín_. I can only hope that I have in some way strengthened your faith in the might of Men."

"It will take time _hîr nín_ , but your words, as ever, shall help me come to my senses!"

"I do not believe you ever took leave of your senses. I realise that this time must be difficult for you, stirring such memories." Glorfindel stroked her cheek. "It is strange; you seem to have more of the look of Ecthelion about you. He always questioned everything. Perhaps it runs in your blood." His heart lifted as Nîndorien smiled once more. He glanced up at the sky; the sun was beginning to set.

"I'm afraid that I must take my leave of both you and Rivendell, _hiril nín._ The hour grows late and I have to go abroad with others of the House."

Nîndorien saw young Lindir waiting at the front of the buildings, standing beside his horse. “My Lord Glorfindel! It has been very remiss of me to keep you so long in conversation in your last hours in Rivendell!"

"Do not fear, _hiril nín_. I should not have wished to spend that time in any other way."

Impulsively, Nîndorien kissed his forehead and spoke the words she so often said to the sons of Elrond. "Go now with haste, but most of all with care, and may the blessings of the Valar be upon you and the stars of Elbereth shine over your path, lord protector of the Gondolindrim."

Wordlessly, Glorfindel mounted Asfaloth, and rode to Lindir's side. Soon, the two Elves were but specks in the distance, one black as the deepening shadows, the other seeming to glow with a faint white light that lingered long in her mind's eye, recalling that parting from her beloved, many years ago.

 

 

*from the Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring; 'Many Meetings'

****  
 **Translations:**  
 _  
hîr nín_ – my lord  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  



	3. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

Days passed, blending into weeks, and the scouts had not yet returned. Life in Rivendell continued much as normal, but there was an undeniable air of tension in its quiet passageways. Nîndorien frequented the Long Room, studying ancient manuscripts describing great deeds of old. More often than not, she was joined by Meriadoc, who delighted in looking at maps of Middle Earth. Everyday, he was further impressed by the sheer scale of the land. From what Nîndorien could gather, he had not ventured far beyond the boundaries of the Shire before making the great journey to Rivendell. She showed him old maps, depicting Beleriand of old, before the changing of the land, and more recent plans which traced the course of the Anduin and outlined the borders of the kingdoms of Men. He was eager to learn of such things, and had a quick mind. The other halflings showed less interest in such matters. Frodo, Bilbo and Sam could generally be found in Bilbo's room while Pippin often sat with some of the younger Elves and listened with joy to their songs. The Elves, too, were delighted to have such an enthusiastic listener, and laughed when he sang songs of the Shire. He even gave a wholehearted rendition of the Bath Song, which received a warm reception from the light-hearted Elves.

One day she was sitting alone in the Long Room, with a book open in front of her. Scouts were at last beginning to return from their travels but there was no sign of Glorfindel or the sons of Elrond as yet. Merry had long since joined the other hobbits and the day's light was fading. Nîndorien looked out of the window and silently watched as, one by one, the stars began to shine. Her tear-filled eyes reflected the skies like a prism, multiplying and magnifying the pinpricks of light that were appearing in the sky. She did not mourn the passing of the day, for like all Elves she delighted in starlight. Rather, she wept for the heroic deeds of old. The passage that lay open in front of her related the deeds of Glorfindel and Ecthelion, her mother's brother. As darkness fell, she could no longer read the words on the page, but still she sat there, unaware of anything around her until she was startled by a soft voice behind her.

"Why do you weep so, Muinalot?"

She gasped and turned around. "I have not been called by that name since I dwelled in Gondolin, Lord Glorfindel." The Elf-lord stood at the door, still clad in his cloak. She stood up and embraced him warmly. He then held her at arm's length, and looked at her tearstained face.

"But that is how I first knew you, _hiril nín_ ; as the Hidden Flower of Gondolin," he murmured. "Before you ever dwelled in the wet lands, in the havens of Sirion. Now, I ask again: why do you weep? You are no tear-maiden, no _níniel_ , who mourns all things that must pass."

"These past weeks, I have been reading a great deal of the history of our people and Middle Earth. Although there have been great and glorious periods, there has been so much shedding of blood and tears. I have lived through the fall of Gondolin and the grievous assault on Sirion. I heard rumours of the War of Wrath, and I lost the light of my life in the Last Alliance. Only now, as I read of all these deeds and sacrifices, do I realise what our people, and the Edain, and even the Naugrim, have passed through that we may yet live in Middle Earth.

"And still there are those who will sacrifice all," said Glorfindel. "Perhaps not for the Eldar, for our time is passing, but for all free people, from the Edain to those silly yet blessed perrianath." He picked up the book she had been reading, and held it up so he might read it by the light of the stars. He smiled sadly when he saw what was written there. "You speak of sacrifices, but I say to you, that my death was not the sacrifice." Nîndorien looked at him with confusion before he continued. "Nay, the true sacrifice was the effort to live on through the burning pain and overwhelming weariness, and thus ensure the survival of at least some part of our people. It would have been easy to fall, to yield to the suffering and speed to the Halls of Mandos and await what judgement might befall when the burden of living had passed from me."

"Does it not disturb you, lord, to talk of your own passing?"

"Not as much as one might think. One's own death is hardly a pleasant topic of conversation but it was that so-called death in Gondolin that truly impressed upon me that our bodies are but temporary vessels for the fire that burns within. I do not deny that it is our physical shape that allows us to partake in the joys of touch, or smell, or sound, yet it is not our bodies that bind us to the world. The physical form is quite separate to the essence inside each one of us."

Nîndorien remained silent, taking in the Elf-lord's words with a new-found sense of awe and respect. She soon returned to reality, when she looked upon his travel-stained cloak. "I suppose that you must speak with Lord Elrond, for I see that you are but lately returned from your errantry."

"Indeed, _hiril nín_. As you say, I must seek out the Lord Elrond."

"I believe him to be in council with Mithrandir. I daresay that they have much to discuss for many scouts have returned these last two days; only Elladan and Elrohir have yet to return."

The two Elves then left the Long Room, and took their leave of one another. Nîndorien returned to her chambers while Glorfindel went to find Elrond, to impart what knowledge he had gleaned from his travels. He frowned slightly, however, for his errand had not been entirely successful; he and Lindir had travelled to Rhosgobel to seek Radagast the Brown, but there had been no sign of the Istar. He sighed, having watched Nîndorien disappear around a corner, and then began to climb the steps to Elrond's study.

 

***

 

At last the sons of Elrond returned, and spoke in secret with their father. They did not speak of their journey to anyone, even Nîndorien, and she did not press them for information. It came to pass that Elrond spoke with the hobbits, and much to the surprise of his household, the Company that was to travel with the Ringbearer was named. None of the Elves of Rivendell were named among their number; rather all four halflings were to pass into the wilds of Middle Earth. Seven days after the naming of the Company, Nîndorien stood with Arwen and many other maidens of the house, as the travellers prepared to depart. She sensed the anxiety of Lady Undómiel and stood close by in silent support. The sun was beginning to set, for Elrond had deemed it wise that the travellers only move under cover of night. From the porch on which they stood, Nîndorien could see Sam talking gently to his pony. The other hobbits looked nervous and wide-eyed, though in their wildest imaginings, they could not know what lay ahead. Bilbo stood nearby, shivering with the cold, but he would not move inside until Frodo had vanished from view.

An Elf of the Mirkwood Realm was to travel with the Company, as representative of the Eldar. To Nîndorien's eyes, he seemed young and he was strangely clad, after the manner of the Silvan folk, but she trusted to Elrond's wisdom in choosing the Sindarin prince over a member of his own household.

A Dwarf also stood with the Company; he was stout and hardy but it seemed that he was not enamoured of Elves, for he looked at the Elf-prince rather suspiciously. Like the other Dwarves who had come to Rivendell, however, he had never treated Lord Elrond with anything but respect.

Mithrandir was the leader of the company, and the Elven sword Glamdring was girt at his side. He appeared as an old man leaning heavily on his staff, but a hidden power emanated from him that lay not in weapons of battle.

Arwen's eyes were ever on Aragorn, who was to accompany them. Now was the time of his testing, and although he wore the dull clothes of a Ranger, he carried himself as a king, and the sword reforged hung at his side. The last of the Company was a man of Gondor. Nîndorien did not know much about him, for he had travelled with other scouts in the past two months and had spent little time in Rivendell since the Council. She sensed that he was strong and valiant, as such things were accounted by men, and it seemed to her that, though proud, he would find the path of wisdom ere the end of the quest. She watched as he raised his horn and winded it. The sound echoed in the cloven vale of Rivendell, putting birds to flight. He stood proudly and heeded not the rebuke of Elrond. The Elves of the household stood, still as statues, until not even their keen eyes could see the departing travellers. An uneasy dusk fell over the refuge of Rivendell as the Elves began to go back inside.

 

***

 

Later that night, beneath the black skies, Nîndorien walked with Arwen on a huge balcony which overlooked the Bruinen. The stars were hidden from view by a veil of clouds and although the sound of voices rising in song could be heard from the house, the two Elven ladies walked in silence. At last, Nîndorien placed her hand gently on Arwen's shoulder.

"How do you bear this parting?" she asked softly.

"I do not know," replied Arwen in a whisper, "save that the strength to withstand this separation stems from necessity. If I were to yield to the pain in my heart, I would not last the night. It is folly to tell myself that this is no different to all the times he has been abroad in the land in the past, for I know that now he walks the path that will bring us to our doom. On this quest hang all our hopes and fears. If it fails, all the world shall know darkness but if he succeeds, I know that I must face the doom I have wrought for myself. I would have it no other way; for I love him truly and would share everything with him. Even mortality, if that be my fate."

Nîndorien marvelled at the sacrifice that the fair daughter of Elrond was prepared to make. Arwen moved to the wall of the balcony and spoke once more. "Last night, Estel and I stood here from the setting of the sun until its rising. We watched the stars as they wheeled in their course across the sky, and drew strength from the appearance of Eärendil in the West."

 

***

 

They stood at the edge of the balcony, looking down at the glistening waters of the Bruinen and, from a window far above, Elrond and Glorfindel could see them; two black-haired Ladies, heads close together in counsel; one, the Evenstar of her people and the other, the fair lady of the last High King.

"It is well for the Lady Undómiel that Nîndorien is present to give her counsel and support," commented Glorfindel as he moved away from the window.

"Indeed, my friend," replied Elrond, still looking at the scene that lay below. "I doubt, however, that Lady Nîndorien would be such a skilled counsellor were it not for your influence."

 

***

 

"It was as though we were once again in Lothlórien on the night we swore ourselves to one another," continued Arwen, unaware of the eyes that ever looked over her with love and sorrow. "I could almost feel the undying grass of Cerin Amroth beneath my feet."

Still, Nîndorien remained silent as she recalled the last night she had spent with her beloved before he had marched to his fate. She could not compare that final night of untold passions between two who had been joined, body and soul, for the duration of an Age of Middle Earth, with the last night spent between Aragorn and Arwen, filled with words of hope and despair and unsworn promises. Arwen sighed heavily. "Look down at those woods, _hiril nín_." she indicated the dark forests of Rivendell with a graceful sweep of her hand. "There did I first behold Estel. He was but a child in my eyes, and little did I realise what power he would hold over my heart. He named me Tinúviel, for he thought that I had come to him as a legend out of the mists of time. Yet, even then as I looked upon him, I wondered if my fate would be like the fate of Lúthien."

Once more, she sighed and Nîndorien felt that her heart would break.

"Would it aid you if I spoke of my first meeting with my beloved?" she asked and Arwen looked at her with wonder, for Nîndorien rarely spoke of her love, save to Elrond and Glorfindel, and to Celebrían, before she passed to the Undying Lands.

"If it does not cause thee pain, _hiril nín_ ," she said. The two fair Elves moved to a stone seat by the wall, and with the sound of the Bruinen echoing far below, Nîndorien began to speak, seeking to lift Arwen's heart with a tale of love in dark times.

"My first meeting with my love was under far less peaceful circumstances than your first sight of Estel. Long ago, in the end of the First Age, I dwelt in the haven of Sirion. This was after the fall of Gondolin, when the exiled Gondolindrim and the remnant of Doriath lived together under the rule of Eärendil. It came to pass, when Eärendil was at sea, that a rumour reached the sons of Fëanor that a Silmaril was kept in Sirion, in the possession of Elwing, Dior's daughter. Without warning, they descended on our homes; Maedhros, Maglor, Amrod and Amras, for they were all that remained of Fëanor's seven sons. They brought death upon our people. My mother, who had survived the fall of Gondolin, was counted among the slain. Elwing cast herself into the sea, and your father and his brother were seized. A great many of our people perished in that third and most grievous slaying of Elf by Elf. Amrod and Amras fell also, at the hands of their own servants who perceived the evil of their ways. I was seized by a servant of Maglor, and I was greatly afraid, for his intent was evil. Even as I struggled against my cruel captor, and against unconsciousness, the sounds of joyful cries reached my ears. The ships of Círdan were speeding across the water to offer aid, though alas! they were too late to prevent many of the evils of that day. Before I passed out, I could glimpse a bright shining light on the prow of the foremost ship. Ereinion Gil-galad it was, wearing a bright shining helm and silver mail, and bearing a shield overlaid with silver, which shone like a star of radiance even in the bright sunlight. Revealed thus in his wrath, and wielding his mighty spear Aiglos, it was little wonder that the last two sons of Fëanor and their followers fled before him.

"I knew nothing of what passed afterwards, save what my handmaidens told me. It seemed that Gil-galad himself had thrown aside my captor but he would not permit the slaying of any Elf in retribution for what had passed. I was borne to a ship and what few remained of the people of Sirion boarded ship also, and removed to Balar. There we joined the people of Gil-galad and Círdan.

"I lay unconscious for many days, and when I came to, I knew not where I was, save that I lay on a soft bed, in a fair pavilion. I rose, and dressed, and summoned my handmaidens. They told me that I had been brought to the Isle of Balar, and the High King himself had laboured long in my healing. They would have had me remain in bed, but I refused and demanded to be brought before the King, to express my gratitude. They told me that he often walked along the cliffs, looking to the east and at fair Beleriand, for he loved Middle Earth and was much grieved at the darkness that now hung over it.

"I left the pavilion, and stepped out into the windy evening. My hair was unbound, and was blown all about me, but I laughed aloud for such was my joy at being alive. I followed a narrow, lightly trodden path which led through a thicket of young trees.

"Soon, I came out onto a trail that snaked along the cliff tops. The sea was crashing on the rocks below and the wind ever roared around. I walked alone for a while until, ahead of me, at the easternmost point of the island, I saw a tall Elf-lord. He was standing looking eastward, at the haven of Sirion from which broken black tendrils of smoke still arose.

"And so I beheld Ereinion Gil-galad clearly for the first time. He no longer wore his bright helm, and his raven black hair whipped about in the wind. I glimpsed his silver mail beneath his blue cloak, which he held tight around his body. He stood still as a statue, and in that moment my heart was turned to him, for he held himself as a king among the Eldalië, mighty, proud and fairer than any Elf-lord I had seen before.

"Despite the crashing of the waves and the bellowing of the wind, he heard my light step and turned. When his eyes lighted upon me, I trembled but I thought that I could see gladness in their depths, and my heart leaped up within me. Controlling the tremor that had somehow crept into my voice, and threatened to betray my emotions, I spoke to him.

" 'Greetings, Ereinion Gil-galad. It seems that I, Nîndorien of Gondolin and Sirion, owe you a debt twice over.'

" 'How so, _hiril nín_?' he asked, and I was entranced by his voice, which was at once both soft and commanding.

" 'Twice you have saved my life, _aran nín_ , ' I continued. "Once from the hands of the cruel servant of Maglor and then by healing me in both body and soul.'

"He laughed and waved aside any debt, before gently chiding me for rising so soon after my ordeal and for venturing out of doors without a cloak. Before I could protest, he cast his own cloak about me, enveloping us both against the wind. It was then that I saw his arm was bound.

" _'Aran nín_!' I cried. 'You have suffered some hurt!'

" 'A mere scratch, ' he said gallantly, but when I sought to examine it, he winced. I entreated him to let me tend to it, for a measure of guilt lay upon me.

" 'Was it not on my account that you received this "scratch", _aran nín_?' I asked and he could not deny it. At length I managed to persuade him to return to the pavilion where I might look at the wound, for I was somewhat skilled in the craft of healing. I argued that, even as he had healed me, so might I be allowed to tend to him.

"In the pavilion, I bade him remove his mail shirt and I unbound the wound. He had suffered none to touch it until now, and as he lay on the bed, I gently searched the wound with my fingers. It was a deep gash that ran across his shoulder and upper arm. It would have laid down any mortal man, and even for one with Elven powers of recovery, I deemed it serious. I began to pack the wound with certain herbs which I knew to have some healing virtues. Even though his face was turned from me, I knew that he was grimacing with pain, although my touch was light.

" 'It is oft said that healers make unwilling patients, ' I said lightly.

" 'Ay, _hiril nín_ ,' he replied through clenched teeth, 'but do not suppose that my unwillingness reflects on your healing skills, for never have I known a healer with so gentle a touch.'

"His words brought a smile to my face, and I continued with my task, binding up his wound. When I had finished, he sat up on the bed and looked upon me. Such was the strength of his gaze that I shook and a colour rose to my face. He correctly perceived the cause of my agitation, and took my hands in his to stop their trembling.

" 'What troubles you, _hiril nín_?' he asked in his soft tones. 'I hope that you are not still afflicted by what befell you in Sirion?'

" 'Nay, _aran nín_ ,' I replied. 'For although that memory is evil, I believe that now I may have found my heart's peace.'

"He laughed softly, and said, 'I cannot promise you and your people peace, _hiril nín_ , but I do swear that you, Nîndorien of Sirion, shall always have my protection, if you so wish for it.' Then, he held me close and kissed me, and spoke such oaths of love that, from that moment on, my heart was ever in his keeping. Thus began the year of our betrothal and we spent many nights, gazing into the skies and we saw the first appearance of Eärendil in the West."

So Nîndorien came to the end of her tale, and Arwen had sat enthralled throughout. "So you see, my dearest Undómiel, love can take root even in the darkest of times, and it can survive all evils." She sat silently for a moment, her mind lingering over joyful memories. She did not tell Arwen of the hunger and desire of that first kiss, nor of how they had moved apart guiltily when Círdan arrived at the pavilion to enquire about her recovery. There was laughter in her eyes, however, as she silently recalled how neither had realised that they were still holding hands until Círdan had raised his eyebrows questioningly, before smiling at them good-naturedly and apologising for his intrusion.

Arwen turned to face her and asked, "How did you bear parting from him, _hiril nín_ , for I gather from the teachings of my father, that King Gil-galad was often away in battle?"

Nîndorien smiled inwardly, for she felt that Arwen sought to learn from her own past. "I do not presume that when my lord departed for battle, it compared with what you feel now. It seems to me that your anxiety is far greater than any I experienced, and with just cause. I always spent such times in studying manuscripts, or, when my mind wandered, by busying myself with needlework or improving my knowledge of healing herbs. It was never easy to part from him, despite the immortality of the Eldar, and I always feared that I might never look upon him again in Middle Earth. And so it came to pass, but not until we had spent many years together, longer even than your lifetime, fair Undómiel."

Arwen sat silently while Nîndorien continued. "Do not believe that time spent in each other's company has any bearing on the pain one feels at the last parting. Millennia spent together does not lessen the grief. Such was our love, and I deem, such is the love between you and Estel, that all the Ages of Arda would not serve to dampen its flame. You have taken a great burden upon yourself for this love; do not undermine it by worrying on dark things that might not even come to pass. The love you feel is worthy of the great sacrifice you will make, and should Estel be crowned, you will take great joy from the years you will spend with him, no matter what their number. Even when I swore myself to my lord, we feared that the days of the Eldar in Middle Earth were numbered, for few yet stood to oppose the might of Morgoth. Yet, with that first rising of Gil-Estel, we knew that there was still hope. So it is for you, Arwen, for the darkness has not prevailed yet, and I believe that your Estel will not be easily overthrown."

Arwen smiled, and her face was truly radiant. "My thanks to you, Lady Nîndorien. If I cannot raise myself to hope, than how can I be worthy of such a love? I shall do as you say. Perhaps to busy myself with needlework will provide some release from the doubts that gnaw inside me. Come now, let us return indoors, for the night is passing swiftly."

She took Nîndorien's arm, and the two ladies proceeded inside. As they mounted the steps, Nîndorien glanced up and could have sworn that she saw a dark-haired Elf standing at a window, looking down on them. She sighed when she realised that the window corresponded with Elrond's chambers, for she knew that he too would have to make a sacrifice that would last beyond all ages of the world. Arwen also looked up but did not see her father. Instead she gasped with delight, for the clouds had shifted slightly and a bright light shone down.

"Look, Nîndorien! It is Gil-Estel! Eärendil still shines down on us."

Nîndorien looked up and smiled, before ushering Arwen indoors. As she left Arwen at the doors of her chambers, the younger Elf turned to her and Nîndorien could see a light-hearted sparkle in Arwen's eyes, which had been sadly absent of late.

"Having listened to your tale, _hiril nín_ , a question occurred to me." Arwen smiled before proceeding when Nîndorien looked at her curiously. "Did you always address Gil-galad, as ' _aran nín_ '?"

Nîndorien laughed. "Indeed I did, Undómiel. The day after we were wed, he commented that I had no need to address him so formally, for I knew him better than any other." At this Arwen thought that a slight blush crossed Nîndorien's face but then decided she was mistaken, for Nîndorien looked as calm as ever, guarding her emotions carefully. "We were walking along one of the stony beaches of Balar and I turned to him and asked if he would prefer I called him 'Scion of Kings' or 'Star of Radiance'? Both names seemed far more formal to me. He laughed and decided that I might address him however I chose, even though he admitted that he liked the sound of his names on my lips. Do not worry, Arwen, for I doubt that Aragorn will insist that you address him in the same manner as I chose to address my love." She laughed once more, and Arwen joined in with delight. Their harmonious laughter was an uplifting sound that carried through the corridors, driving dark thoughts away. When Arwen had recovered her poise, she smiled.

"Never fear, Lady Nîndorien, for Aragorn will always be my _Estel_."

****

**Translations:**  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _aran nín_ – my king

 


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

"How does she cope?" Glorfindel's voice came from behind Nîndorien, who stood at her window, looking down at the snowy Rivendell landscape. Arwen walked alone on the snow, cloaked and hooded, her light steps leaving no imprint on the white surface.

" _Hîr nín_! You startled me!" cried Nîndorien.

"The door was open, _hiril nín_. I am sorry for intruding."

"Nay, it matters not. I just didn't hear you," Nîndorien smiled before saying, "Even among Elves, your ability to move soundlessly is uncanny."

Glorfindel laughed softly, before looking out of the window at Arwen, who seemed to be walking in slow, repetitive circles. It was just over two weeks since the Company had departed Rivendell, and rumours of a storm on Caradhras had filtered back. Nîndorien had seen great concern on Elrond's face as he passed through the corridors of Rivendell.

"She is anxious, _hîr nín_. The thoughts that rush through her mind will not give her peace."

"That is to be expected. None of us can rest easy in these times."

"No, but fear weighs more heavily on the Lady Undómiel. She has begun a great work, to keep her mind occupied." Nîndorien glanced at Glorfindel who raised his eyebrows questioningly. Nîndorien hesitated before proceeding. "She wishes it to remain secret, so perhaps I should not mention it." Nîndorien thought of Arwen's great labour of love; undertaken at night and in secret. The daughter of Elrond was making a kingly banner for Aragorn to bear when his time came. She murmured a prayer to the Valar with every stitch, and poured all of her love and hope into its making.

"Very well, I shall not ask you to break confidence."

Nîndorien changed the subject. "I have heard that the Lord Elrond considers sending his sons to fight at Aragorn's side."

"But Elladan and Elrohir are abroad again, are they not?"

"Yes, they left Rivendell days ago and travelled north. I believe that there is some disturbance there, and they have ridden out to fight with the Rangers. I do not know when Lord Elrond expects them to return"

"Their homecoming will be short-lived, if it is as you say, and they are to seek out Aragorn."

" _Hîr nín_ , no doubt you know more than I, for you are one of Lord Elrond's closest counsellors."

"I'm afraid that I cannot speak of Lord Elrond's plans, _hiril nín_ ," said Glorfindel gravely, but his eyes were playful.

"Indeed? I hope that this is not retribution for my refusal to tell you of Arwen's secret." said Nîndorien archly. "Well, perhaps it is best that neither of us break the confidences of Lord Elrond and his daughter."

"You spend much of your time with her, do you not?"

"Ay, if I am not by her side, I feel I must watch over her."

"With you and her father ever watchful, she is in safe hands until Aragorn claims her as his queen." Glorfindel smiled at Nîndorien, but inside he was concerned. The Lady looked tired and Glorfindel wondered if she was giving too much of her own strength to support Arwen.

"You speak with surety, _hîr nín_."

"Not surety, but hope. We must believe that evil can be overthrown, else there is no reason to continue."

"I wish I had some of your hope," murmured Nîndorien as she gazed out of the window. This was the same window from which she had watched for the return of her lord, although, in her heart she had known that she would not look upon him again in Middle Earth. Arwen waited not for Aragorn's return, for he would not come back to Rivendell, but rather for some tidings of how he fared.

"Surely you do not believe this quest to be hopeless?" asked Glorfindel, looking down at her searchingly.

"Nay. I believe that this is our best chance of victory against the Dark Lord, but it stings me when I think that Undómiel will fade and diminish. Lord Elrond speaks not of it, but even in victory, he will have to bear the most sorrowful of partings. How can he still have hope?"

"Yet, he does, _hiril nín_. Since the Second Age, he has set himself against Sauron, and he will not turn from that path now, although his journey's end will see a most painful parting."

"I admire his strength. Should his hope come to fruition, he alone in Middle Earth will greet the tidings of victory with sorrow."

"That has happened before, _hiril nín_ , and sorrow was overcome."

Nîndorien tore her gaze away from Arwen, and looked at Glorfindel closely, understanding his meaning. When the tattered remnants of the Last Alliance had returned victorious to Imladris after seven years, she had searched without hope for some sight of Gil-galad's banner. At last, she saw Lord Elrond and when their eyes met, she realised the truth, though she had already known it deep down. All about her, Elves were crying out with joy for the downfall of the dark Lord. Nîndorien had stood still for a moment, amidst all the happiness, before her legs gave way and sorrow overtook her. She did not know how long she had lain senseless, but were it not for the healing skills of Lord Elrond, she would not have lingered long in Middle Earth, risking even the wrath of the Valar to lay down the burden of living. She returned from the very brink and although her recovery took many years, it was aided by the return of Glorfindel, who arrived in Imladris early in the Third Age. She now dwelled in Rivendell peacefully, though sorrow lay like a shadow on her heart.

Glorfindel remained silent, watching Nîndorien slowly and painfully uncovering hidden memories. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, but he had sworn to himself never to speak of that which lay buried deep in his heart. He looked at the window once more, and saw that Arwen stood motionless before she let out a cry and ran lightly over the snow. Her brothers had returned, and with them came a company of Rangers. Nîndorien gave no indication that she had seen the travellers' arrival but she stirred, and looked up at her companion. Shocked realisation crossed her face, for though Glorfindel sought to hide it, stark emotion shone clearly in his eyes, betraying his inner feelings. Nîndorien cast about for the right words, laying her hand upon his, which rested on the windowsill. She did not know what to say, for although Glorfindel was ever in her heart, her love was bestowed unto another.

"Hush, _hiril nín_ ," whispered Glorfindel, putting his finger to her lips. "Speak no words, for I understand your mind more fully than you know. I swore to myself never to speak of this, and so it shall remain." He smiled, a beautiful and sorrowful smile, and kissed her forehead gently. "Come now. The sons of Elrond have returned and I dare say that they will shortly seek their old friend and confidante."

"And they shall find her in the company of her oldest and truest friend." Nîndorien took Glorfindel's arm, and together they proceeded to the entrance hall, where Elrond fondly greeted his sons, and looked with gladness upon his three children.

 

***

 

The following days passed more quickly than the previous weeks, for Elladan and Elrohir brought light and hope to the people of Rivendell. Once more they had returned from the wilds unscathed, and they walked around Rivendell together, identical images of strength and valour. All hearts rose in their presence, for they were like mighty Elf-lords of old, fair and fearless.

One day, as the sun was nearing its highest point, a small number of Elrond's household sat in the Hall of Fire. Elrond himself was there, with Glorfindel, as ever, on his right, and Erestor on his left. Nîndorien sat with Arwen at her feet, sitting as she had done when she was an Elfling. They were listening to Elladan, who was relating some tale of the wilds. He was the more eloquent of the sons of Elrond, taking after his father, for he was clever in speech and highly learned. Elrohir was quieter and more thoughtful, though no less wise, and in this, he was like gentle Celebrían. He sat beside Nîndorien, his eyes always on his brother. Suddenly, the hall dimmed and it seemed as though some cloud had passed across the sun. Elrond's eyes flew wide open, before he closed them in grief. He murmured, " _Ai, Mithrandir , utúlie'n mornië_!" He rose and departed from the room. Nîndorien's hands flew to her mouth, as Arwen hid her face in the folds of Nîndorien's gown. Elladan and Elrohir rose and followed their father, all thoughts of storytelling forgotten. Nîndorien watched as Glorfindel and Erestor also left the room. She longed for Glorfindel to look back at her and give her some sort of reassurance but he did not turn his head. Nîndorien was sorry, for although no harsh words had passed between them, she sensed that there was a distance between herself and the yellow-haired Elf-lord, where before there had been none. Absentmindedly, she stroked Arwen's black hair, as the Evenstar sobbed softly. Nîndorien's heart was heavy; it seemed to her that Arwen was becoming more like one of the Edain. Her emotions seemed to flux with every passing day and each minute brought her closer to her doom. Many hours passed in the flickering light of the Hall of Fire, and eventually Arwen's sobbing subsided to silent tears

"Hush now, child. There is yet hope," Nîndorien whispered.

"How can there be? Did you not see the look upon my father's face? Did you not hear his words? Mithrandir has fallen; soon everyone else will follow." Arwen looked up at Nîndorien, tears trickling down her face.

"Arwen, do not cry; enough tears have been shed in Middle Earth to flood all its lands, from deepest valley to highest peak," said Nîndorien. "All is not lost while the Company remains true to their goal. Do not lose hope." She gently placed her hands on Arwen's cheeks, and looked into her tear-filled eyes. "Estel is strong; he can lead them on."

"How do you bear it?" asked Arwen.

"Bear what, my child?" asked Nîndorien puzzled.

"Living through the ages, and witnessing repeated downfall and darkness. How do you still endure, with all those years of sorrow hanging over you?"

"Perhaps that is the price we pay for our immortality. We must live with our memories and sorrows until the end of Arda. If we were to lose hope, our very immortality would lie heavy upon us, until we grew to resent it and resent those who forced it upon us." As Nîndorien spoke, she could almost hear Glorfindel's words echoing in her ears. "You have heard of Míriel Serindë, mother of Fëanor, have you not?" Arwen nodded. "She longed to escape the burden of living, for the bearing of her son had weakened her and deprived her of the joy of life; even Finwë's love for her could not bind her to this life. Her spirit passed from her body, to the Halls of Mandos, and she was the first among Elves who wished to abandon her existence and refuse to be reborn. It is said that this grieved the Valar, for immortality is a precious gift, even if it grows bitter with time."

Arwen sat silently for a time. "Would you then choose the Doom of Men, if it were offered to you?"

Nîndorien paused before answering. "I cannot conceive of the day when I utterly despair of life, but it may be with the passage of the ages that all immortals shall envy Men, for with death comes peace. For myself, and for my love, I would not choose it, for it is not my fate."

"Yet for my love, I gladly take the doom of men upon me," Arwen said.

"Even as Lúthien forswore her immortality for the love of Beren," whispered Nîndorien, "And their days together in _Dor Firn-i-Guinar_ were no less joyous for that sacrifice. So it shall be for you." Nîndorien gently clasped Arwen's hand and some of her strength seemed to pass to the younger Elf, who finally smiled.

"Thank you, Lady Nîndorien. I think I shall remove to my chambers now and return to my needlework." Arwen paused before continuing. "I am glad that I have you by my side as counsellor."

"Nay, thank me not," said Nîndorien as they both rose to their feet. "Thank rather the Lord Glorfindel, for without his teaching, I should not have the wisdom to find my own way in this world, much less guide another." She smiled sadly as they left the room. As Arwen and Nîndorien reached Arwen's chambers, the daughter of Elrond turned to Nîndorien. "You always speak fondly of the Lord Glorfindel, _hiril nín_ , and his eyes are ever on you when you are in the same room."

"Indeed, for he is a dear friend." Nîndorien stopped as she understood what Arwen was tactfully trying to say. "But he can never be more to me than that. His return from the Halls of Mandos is the very thing that gave me hope. I believe he knows it well, for whenever I look upon him, I remember his death for the Gondolindrim. And I remember the death of another for the people of Middle Earth. When I see that he lives again, I hope that my own love may live once more.

"Know this, gentle Evenstar: my heart is truly given unto another, and in his keeping shall it remain. Glorfindel is a twice-beloved friend, but where Ereinion dwells, there also dwells my heart. The love of the Eldar does not waver, for not even death can quench the flame of love."

"I believe it is the same with mortal love," said Arwen, barely aware that she was speaking aloud. "I cannot accept that my love for Estel, nor his for me, will die when we go to our graves."

"Well then, my child, cherish that love and take strength from it when hope seems at an end. Now go," Nîndorien planted a soft kiss on Arwen's tearstained cheek, "Return to this labour of love, and picture the hope your banner will bring to others when Estel raises it and Gondor knows that it has a king again."

 

***

 

Later that night, Nîndorien went into the Long Room. She brought with her a small lantern, and searched for the book that Merry and Pippin had been looking at when she had come across them on the morning of the Council. At length she found it, and laid it upon an old oak desk. Turning the pages, she came to the picture she wished to behold: Gil-galad, clad in his silver mail and shining helmet, bearing his bright shield and wielding Aiglos. He stood as he had in life; proud and fearless and ever-young. Nîndorien lightly caressed the image of his face and closed her eyes. A smile passed across her face as she walked in a land of glad memories.  
 _  
She lay on their bed, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the slow and rhythmic breathing of Ereinion Gil-galad as he slept beside her. This was their first night as a wedded couple, and although she was exhausted, she could not sleep. Joy bubbled up inside her and she had to bite her lip to suppress the urge to laugh out loud. A cool sea breeze floated in through the open window, carrying with it the sweet smell of Balar. She turned onto her side and looked lovingly on Ereinion's face, before laying soft kisses on both of his closed eyelids. He breathed out softly, and she noticed a stray strand of black hair lying across his cheek. She held her breath and extended her hand to push it behind his ear. At the very moment that her fingertips grazed the skin of his face, his hand shot out and he gently grasped her wrist. She cried out with surprise, before finally yielding to the laughter that rose up inside, and having put up the pretence of a struggle, she allowed him to kiss her again and again. He pulled her towards him and wrapped his strong arms around her. Later, as she lay nestled against him, she resolved never to believe that he was sleeping even when all appearances seemed to suggest otherwise.  
_  
Nîndorien stood motionless in the Long Room of Rivendell, the flame of the lantern casting unsteady light across her features. Although her mind dwelled on happy memories, her face soon became troubled, as a darkness descended on her thoughts  
 __  
Now she walked barefoot through the corridors of Gil-galad's royal dwelling in Lindon. Although it was the dead of night, she could not sleep and nor, it seemed, could the High King. A light burned in his study, and when Nîndorien came to the open door, she could see him sitting at his oaken desk, his figure silhouetted by a flickering candle. Although her footsteps were so silent that she herself could not hear them, he addressed her without turning around.

_"Why do you stray out of bed so late, meleth nín?"_

_"To find you, aran nín, for I cannot sleep and I sense that you are greatly troubled." She walked across the room and stood behind his chair. She leaned over his shoulder, putting her arms around him, her hair trailing onto his face. Letters lay strewn between burnt-out candle ends on the surface of the desk. She kissed his cheek and asked softly, "What troubles you, aran nín?"_

_He did not reply immediately, but gently pulled her around so that she faced him. He looked at her face with tenderness, before drawing her onto his knee and holding her close. He rested his head on her breast and she stroked his head, gently kissing him. Drawing some comfort from her presence, he began to speak._

_"I have letters here from Eregion, bearing most contradictory reports. It seems that a person who names himself Annatar has come among them. Celebrimbor seems not to notice anything amiss, and has welcomed Annatar warmly, but I also have a letter from Galadriel. She is not swayed by his promises of riches and glory, and seriously contemplates leaving Eregion. I have written to Celebrimbor to urge caution in his dealings with Annatar, who apparently claims that, under his guidance, Eregion can become a powerful and beautiful land that will vie even with Valinor in splendour."_

_"Did this Annatar not approach you?"_

_"I did not receive him, on the advise of Master Elrond, although, in truth, I needed not the counsels of Elrond Peredhil to tell me that something was amiss. I was filled with misgivings, for although all reports state that Annatar appears fair and generous, I sense some evil lurking beneath that fair-seeming surface. He sent messages that praised me above all the kings of the Eldar, and he offered to build Lindon into a kingdom worthy of envy. I believe that he is searching for weakness among the Elves, and he would have us believe that he is the only one who can provide our hearts' truest desires." At this, Gil-galad raised his head, and looked at Nîndorien's face. His smile made her heart soar and he kissed her fingers, before entwining them within his own. "Perhaps it is well that Annatar is not permitted to enter this land, for it would quickly become clear to him exactly where my heart lies." Then he kissed her deeply, with all the hunger and desire of that first kiss on the Isle of Balar over one thousand years before. Finally, he set her to her feet and stood up, still clasping her hand. "Come, loth nín, let us go to bed, for black night breeds black thoughts. Perhaps the dawning of the sun will shed more light on the matter, but I fear that my fate, with the fate of Middle Earth, lies entangled in the schemes of Annatar."  
_  
Nîndorien did not know how much time had passed, but her memories grew darker and more sorrowful, and she could not break the enchantment under which she now found herself.  
 _  
She stood by a window in Rivendell looking east. Without warning, she cried aloud, startling the others in the room. It felt like a great burning hand was pressed against her chest, its very fire inflicting a pain like she had never known before. Then, as suddenly as it had come upon her, it ceased. As tears ran down her face, she understood what had happened, and from that day forth, although she maintained her vigil, hope had forsaken her.  
_  
At last, Nîndorien succeeded in forcing her mind back to the present. She trembled as she laid down the book and, having taken a few deep breaths, she walked slowly out of the room. As she passed along the corridor leading to her chambers, she glanced up at the far wing of the house. Candles still burned in Undómiel's windows; at least hope had not yet deserted the Lady of Rivendell.

In the Long Room, Glorfindel sat in the shadows, silently berating himself for letting his defences slip earlier. He knew that he would have to support Nîndorien still, for Elrond had decided to send his sons to Aragorn's side. Before the fortnight was up, Elladan, Elrohir and the company of stern Rangers would leave Rivendell. Nîndorien would need his presence, for she was giving so much of herself to Undómiel, that he feared her light would fade even as the Evenstar grew brighter. Arwen was drawing strength from one who had little left to give.

****  
 **Translations** : _  
hîr nín_ – my lord  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _meleth nín_ – my love

aran nín – my king

loth nín – my flower


	5. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

  
Many leagues away, on a distant plain before the Black Gates of Mordor, a battle raged. Out of the range of perception, two small figures laboured up a mountainside, almost at their journey's end. In Minas Tirith, all eyes turned east. In Rivendell, Nîndorien and Arwen rode out in the forest that lay about the buildings. Although it seemed that they were alone, both knew full well that a number of skilled archers were watching over them, under the orders of Lord Elrond. The day seemed dark, and Nîndorien felt weary. More and more, she found herself dwelling on painful memories from her own past, although she did not speak of them to anyone. They came on her with increasing frequency and without warning. Privately, she thought that it was these black thoughts that wearied her, not the time she spent with the daughter of Elrond. Glorfindel had told her that she attempted too much but, although it gladdened her heart to hear his concern, she would not cease in her efforts to aid Arwen.

Their horses stepped in lively fashion along the path, and the ladies' long riding cloaks almost trailed along the ground. They did not speak until the silence was broken by the distant snapping of a twig. A look of shock, almost panic, crossed Arwen's face but Nîndorien calmly turned her horse and called into the woods.

"Lindir! Why do you follow us with so little care for silence? The Lord Glorfindel would be most unimpressed if he knew that his pupil was making enough racket to alert of a horde of Orcs to his presence!"

"Oh, speak not of Orcs, _hiril nín_!" cried Arwen, trembling.

The abashed young Elf stepped into the clearing and bowed before them, "I am sent by Lord Elrond bearing a most urgent message. You are to return to the house immediately!"

Arwen gasped and instantly spurred her horse on. Nîndorien caught a glimpse of the fear in Undómiel's face and cried out to her horse, " _noro lim_!" The two riders raced back to the house, hoods and black hair streaming out behind them. Nîndorien reached the steps at the same time as Arwen, and when she looked upon Lord Elrond's strained face, her heart sank. She stood back as he reached out his arms for his daughter. He whispered into her ear, words that no one else could hear, and when Arwen broke free, Nîndorien saw tears in her eyes. She moved to comfort her friend and stopped suddenly when she saw that Arwen wept not with sorrow but with joy. Relief flooded through Nîndorien's veins and she sank to her knees. Arwen rushed to embrace her, and as she rested her head on Undómiel's shoulder, she saw Elrond's face, smiling sadly. She rose and held Arwen's hand as they made their way into the house. At last Undómiel's waiting was over, and the crownless again would be king.

That evening Elrond ordered that a feast be laid out to celebrate the final victory over darkness. All of the household were to attend. Arwen sat at the centre of the high table, in her usual position and Elrond sat at the head, flanked by Glorfindel and Erestor. Although Nîndorien usually sat with Arwen, she contrived it so that, on this occasion, she was sitting by Glorfindel, within speaking range of Lord Elrond. Although he was joyful that the Dark Lord was overthrown and that his foster-son had triumphantly reclaimed his throne, it was clear that a great sorrow hung over him. Whenever he looked upon his daughter, however, he could only smile, for her joy was so great that it almost overshadowed his own sadness. He spoke little, allowing other conversations to drift over him.

After the feast, the Hall of Fire was filled with songs and light as never before. Nîndorien stood by the wall and watched as Bilbo repeatedly told all who would listen how proud he was of Frodo and how he had never doubted that he would succeed. Occasionally, the elderly hobbit would fall asleep, even in the middle of a sentence, but upon awakening, he would simply continue where he had left off. Nîndorien laughed, although she was sorry to see how much Bilbo had aged. She knew that he would not make the long journey to Minas Tirith. She glanced at Elrond and saw that he was sitting alone. She approached him cautiously, not wishing to disturb his reverie but she sensed that he did not want to sit alone in sorrow. He looked up as she stood before him, his movements slow and weary. He smiled at her, and beckoned to her to sit down alongside him.

“My Lady Nîndorien, why do you not join in the singing?" He nodded towards the small gathering of Elves in the centre of the room, who sang beautifully, their voices rising and falling together in joyful harmony. Arwen sat near them, her eyes dancing as she listened to the music. Lindir and Luinil were among the musicians, and their indisputable talent brought a fresh energy to the songs which had been song many times in the past to celebrate ancient victories of Middle Earth.

"I do not believe I could improve on the singing of Lindir, _hîr nín_."

"Indeed. He has become truly accomplished," replied Elrond, his eyes straying to where his daughter sat.

Nîndorien responded, although she knew that Elrond did not want to speak solely on musical matters. "Yes, he has been well-taught by the Lord Glorfindel."

At last, Elrond turned to face her. "He is not the only pupil of Glorfindel to have leaned much for the service of others. Do not think that I am ignorant to the support you have given to my daughter in her darkest hours." He looked at her with concern. "I see that it has taken its toll on you, for you are tired and your spirit burns with less strength than before." He took her hand. "Ah, Nîndorien, you have always given so much of yourself to me and my family."

"Dear one, the support I gave to Arwen is no less than the aid I received from you after the Last Alliance. Were it not for your powers, I should not have tarried long on these shores. Now, _hîr nín_ , I beseech you to let me aid you, for your sorrow is great, I perceive."

Elrond remained silent for a while, looking at Nîndorien while attempting to impose some order on his unruly thoughts. He was not used to having so little control over the direction of his thoughts, and it unnerved him. Nîndorien smiled encouragingly and he took a deep breath before speaking, like a swimmer before diving into the depths of a murky lake.

"I do not know how to describe my feelings of late. It seems that my heart has been torn in two. Part of me rejoices that at last Sauron has been overthrown and Middle Earth may again know peace. At last, Gil-galad's vision has been achieved, although he shall not witness it, nor shall many of the Eldar, for our time here draws to a close. Yet I look upon these happy faces and I know that there are celebrations taking place across Middle Earth, and it gladdens my heart.

"But part of my heart knows only darkness. I look upon Arwen and I know that soon I will behold her no more. Every time I see her face, unbearable sorrow wells within me. I am torn, _hiril nín_ , and I am afraid." Elrond took a deep breath, once more ordering his thoughts. "I thought that I should never know this sorrow again."

Although Elrond did not speak aloud, Nîndorien could hear his voice in her head. _Elros_. The sound of that name filled her mind, stirring old memories and once more, Nîndorien found herself recalling the sack of Sirion. After Elrond and Elros had been seized, it had been greatly feared that the sons of Elwing would suffer the same fate as their uncles; Elured and Elurín, left in the depths of the forest to face any number of unknown terrors: starvation, inconsolable grief or death at the hands of rampaging Orc hordes. Nîndorien had never known greater joy than on the day Gil-galad and Círdan had returned to Balar with the young Peredhil. They had suffered no ill-effects at Maglor's hands, and they had even loved their foster-father a little, and mourned the news of his end. She frowned as she remembered the cruel demand placed upon the two brothers; to irrevocably choose to be counted among Elves or among Men. Elrond's anguish when he learned of his brother's choice to be counted among the Atani lay like a cloud over the early days of Lindon. Nîndorien and Gil-galad had done all they could to carry him through his grief; Gil-galad was like a mentor to him while she herself almost took on the role of mother, for he was yet young. She recalled the numerous times he would come to her, angry tears in his eyes because he felt that Gil-galad was pushing him too hard in matters of warfare and lore. When news reached Lindon of Elros' death over four hundred years later, Elrond was so stricken with grief that he barely spoke for years on end. Gradually, with time and the gentle counsels of Gil-galad, he began to recover, although the shadow of bereavement never fully passed from his heart. Now, at the end of the Third Age, his heart was darkened again and Nîndorien found herself acting as chief counsellor and comforter for, of all the Elves of Rivendell, she had known the Lord of the house the longest. She felt ill-qualified for this task however, because she knew that she could not possibly comprehend his pain. The Eldar were not accustomed to dealing with such a raw grief. It was one of the many things that they marvelled at in the Edain; that every passing generation experienced the pain of death afresh, yet their race did not dwindle. Nîndorien sighed as she thought of all the lifetimes of Men she had lived through; each one as fragile as a whisp of cloud being inexorably pulled apart by a breath of wind.

"Even in all this joy, death has come among us," whispered Elrond hoarsely. "Although it wears a fair face, it frightens me." He laughed suddenly and mirthlessly. "How can it be that I, who shall never know death, fear it so much?"

"Because, you alone of the Eldar in Middle Earth have already been scarred by its finality. Death has left its mark on you," replied Nîndorien. "But I do not believe that it is death that you fear; rather it is the pain of parting from a dearly beloved child. Is it not said that death is the Gift of Ilúvatar? It may be that even the Immortal shall long for its dark kiss. No, dear one, you fear separation."

"Perhaps," sighed Elrond, nodding almost lethargically.

"Do not grieve for Arwen so soon, _hîr nín_ , for she is still full of life, and, by the will of the Valar, she will have a joyous future with Estel. It is better that she live and die as a mortal, and know an enduring love, than to linger on until the end of time, slowly sickening for her lost love."

"But what of a father's love? Does it not compare?"

"Dear one, you know full well that it is by your love that Arwen has flourished; without it she would surely have faded and passed into the twilight, the fading Evenstar of her people. Although her heart is given to Estel, it does not lessen your love for her, nor hers for you. Love does not compete for a foothold within one's heart. Arwen is blessed that she can treasure both her love for you, and her love for Estel. She believes, as I do, that love endures beyond death, beyond even the end of Arda. It does not diminish, just as your love for Arwen will never diminish. I know that your heart breaks at the thought of losing her, but for her sake you must not allow the fire of your love be quenched by the stinging tears of mourning."

Elrond smiled sadly at her. "Do not fear, gentle lady; not all the tears of Nienna could serve to extinguish the flame of my love for Arwen, but neither can all the stars of Varda banish the shadow that lies on my heart. Your words have greatly helped, _hiril nín_. They remind me of Gil-galad's words in Lindon when-" He stopped, and shook his head. "Nay, I shall not dwell on that dark time, but you have comforted me, and I confess that my thoughts have at last regained some semblance of order. Come, let us hearken to the Lord Glorfindel, for it seems that he has been persuaded to play." Nîndorien glanced down the Hall and saw Glorfindel holding a harp that had been pushed into his hands by Lindir. She smiled, for he seldom played for others, despite his great talent.

Glorfindel's long fingers moved skilfully over the strings of the harp, drawing forth an unknown melody, altogether new to the listeners. He sang no words, for there were no words in all the tongues of the Eldar that could convey the emotion carried in every pure note. The music began softly, soaring through the air before, weighted down by a melancholic weariness, each note fell as gently and relentlessly as a bitter teardrop. Soon, the music altered slightly, and a theme of despair-filled longing emerged, tearing at the heart of every listener with secret thoughts of hopeless desire. At last, when it seemed that none could bear the sorrow, a triumphant strain rose up out of the desolation. Its joyous sound banished every dark thought from the hall, and it was so uplifting that all other songs of celebration seemed flat and uninspiring by comparison. Almost imperceptibly, Glorfindel began to weave all the themes together; sorrow, desire and victory. The individual themes did not compete, but rather each complemented the other, thereby increasing its own potency. At last Glorfindel's fingers began to slow and the music gently gave way to peaceful silence. A few moments passed, while the music still echoed in the hearts of all, until the silence was broken by Lindir moving towards Glorfindel with awe in his eyes, followed by many other enthusiastic Elves. Some of them picked up the harp, wondering how it could have produced music of such surpassing beauty.

Nîndorien sat as one stricken, only moving when she became aware of Elrond stirring beside her. She watched through a mist of unwelcome tears as he walked over to his daughter and warmly embraced her. Glorfindel's music, it seemed, had succeeded where words failed, for Elrond looked at Arwen with such joyful love that it drove all thoughts of loss far away. Nîndorien looked down the hall to where Glorfindel sat surrounded by jubilant Elves who begged him to play again. His soft words of demurral carried to Nîndorien's ears. "No, my friends, I do not think I shall ever again produce such music, for it came from a weary heart with nothing left to give."

At this, Nîndorien stood up, and lifting her skirts, she ran from the room. Almost blinded by tears, she came to the balcony on which she had sat with Arwen on the night of the Company's departure from Rivendell. She threw herself down on the stone seat and cried bitterly, as she had never cried before in all her long years. Somehow, Glorfindel's music had unlocked memories and thoughts that she had long forgotten. It was as though he had held a mirror up to her life, and every emotion she had ever felt stood naked in front of her. Images rushed through her head, frantically vying for prominence. Joy, sadness, hope, love and fear all filled her head. Her earliest memories of her uncle singing lullabies to her by the fountains of Gondolin gave way to a clear memory of Gil-galad’s face, his voice, his touch. Her fear during the attack on Sirion became entangled with recollections of the day she held Elladan and Elrohir in her arms for the first time. She was not aware that someone had taken a seat beside her until she heard Glorfindel's soft voice. " _Hiril nín_ , why do you cry?" She lifted her head and looked at him. His golden hair was barely visible in the dark, and it seemed that she looked at him through a veil.

"Your song," she whispered. "It felt as though you were playing the music of my whole life." Something like anger flashed in her eyes. "I did not know that all our conversations would be thus presented to the world." She looked at him accusingly and, much to her surprise, he laughed softly.

" _Hiril nín_ , that music came from my own heart but, by listening to it, you contributed to it, as did all who heard it. Did you not mark the effect it had on many of the Elves of Rivendell?"

"Ay, I did. They were all joyful and merry, all evil thoughts driven far away. Why, then, does my mind still dwell on sorrow and despair?"

"Because your song is not yet complete," he replied simply. "You do not have long to wait, though," he added after a moment's thoughtful contemplation. "You miss him, don't you?" His heart almost broke as he spoke the words.

"More than ever," she whispered as she reached out her hand and placed it on his arm. "I am sorry, I am sorry."

He shook his head. "Never be sorry, Nîndorien. Never." He covered her hand with his.

"I do not understand why I should feel like this," she said. "I thought that my time for mourning had passed but now… I am so tired, Glorfindel, so tired…"

"You have given much of yourself in the past months, with little heed for your own welfare. It is no wonder that your mind dwells on troubled memories. I think that you will pass West soon, when Elrond takes ship." She was too tired to question how he knew where her mind was drawn and slow silent tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she spoke slowly.

"I had always meant to wait until Arwen-"

"No," he said swiftly. "You must travel to the Undying Realm. Middle Earth cannot bring you healing."

"And you?"

"I shall remain here for a time."

"No."

He smiled at her sadly and placed his hands on her face, gently wiping away her tears. "Middle Earth has not lost its hold on me so I shall remain, perhaps for a few years, perhaps for a few centuries. Do not worry; I will depart before the power of the Eldar has utterly run its course. I think that the sons of Elrond will remain, at least at first, so I shall continue to dwell in Rivendell."

"I do not want to lose you."

"You will never lose me." He smiled at her and she did not put up any resistance when he enfolded her in his arms. As she leaned against him, she could hear his steady heartbeat and calm breathing. Soon, she slipped into darkness, dimly conscious of Glorfindel's voice lifting in a haunting melody.  
 _  
There were very few hours of darkness left, and the sun would inevitably rise like an impostor, concealing darkness beneath its fair rays. They clung to each other in desperation._

_"Sleep, meleth nín," he whispered, although he himself could not sleep. He softly caressed her and under his light touch, she drifted into an uneasy slumber. She woke up frequently, crying out with fear each time but he was still there, to hold her and comfort her. Even while she slept, she could feel his eyes on her and his protective arms around her. Gradually, she became aware of his hand, gently pushing her hair back from her face and the sensation of tender kisses on her neck and face. Unwillingly she opened her eyes._

_"No," she whispered, blinking back tears when she saw dawn's red rays piercing the sky. She frantically returned his kisses, knowing that each one came closer to being the last. When the sun finally showed its shameful face, the sound of trumpets rang out; the signal for imminent departure. Like the rising of the tide, the sound of activity began to build up around Imladris._

_They lay still on the bed, and then he spoke the words she dreaded. "It is time."_

_In that moment, she had wanted to scream and cling on to him, to somehow prevent him from leaving her but she looked at his upright back as he sat on the edge of the bed and knew that she would say nothing. He held himself with such resolve and determination that she could not, she would not, stand in his way. She slowly dressed, mind numb against the reality of the day. When she finished, she watched as he fastidiously put on his silver mail, which shone out like a star even in the sunlight. He cast his blue cloak around his shoulders and then turned to face her. He reached out for her, and wrapped her in his cloak, as he had in the first meeting on the cliffs of Balar. They stood still, looking into each other's eyes, understanding each other's thoughts without words. Then he bent his head down and kissed her, softly and tenderly as though they had all the time in the world.  
_  
Glorfindel reached the end of his song; an ancient lullaby of Gondolin, and could hear from the sound of Nîndorien's breathing that she was asleep. He carefully picked her up, and carried her from the balcony in his arms. Her gown trailed noiselessly along the ground as he carried her through the corridors of Rivendell to her chambers. He gently laid her down on the bed, covering her with a blanket. He pushed her black hair back from her face, and stood over her, concern visible on his face. It was clear that she was trapped in some dark dream or memory.  
 _  
She watched from the raised porch as the enormous host organised itself into precise divisions. Her handmaidens stood around her, prepared to offer support. She watched Gil-galad, riding back and forth, inspecting the soldiers. All Elves and Men looked at him with awe and admiration, for he seemed to them to be fearless. His power was evident to all; a mighty king riding to war, unhindered by weakness or doubt. He rode forward to join Elendil at the head of the host. His esquire handed him his spear and his shining helm. He nodded to Elrond, and Nindorien's breath caught in her throat as Gil-galad's Half-Elven herald unfurled the royal banner, a multitude of stars set against a blue background._

_Gil-galad raised Aiglos above his head, and the army began to march. As he neared the top of the path out of the valley, he glanced back once, for the briefest of moments. His eyes fixed on Nîndorien's for a heartbeat, before he turned away and faced into his destiny, and passed from view like a star passing into darkness.  
_  
Glorfindel leant over the sleeping Elf-lady and softly kissed her mouth. He stood back as her lips curled into a small smile. She sighed and stirred slightly before drifting into a dreamless sleep. Glorfindel silently departed from the room.

 

***

Days and weeks passed before Elrond finally announced that Arwen's wedding escort would be leaving for Minas Tirith. No one knew why he had delayed so long, but it seemed that now the time was right. Arwen claimed to Nîndorien that the past few weeks had seemed longer than all the previous years of her betrothal and Nîndorien laughed as she and Arwen stood at the entrance of Rivendell, watching final preparations being made for their journey.

"It is good to hear the sound of your laughter so often these days," said Glorfindel as he walked up the steps towards them. Nîndorien smiled at him. In recent days she had felt more lighthearted and her weariness seemed less. Perhaps it was due to the joyful atmosphere in Rivendell. She and Glorfindel had spoken once about what had passed between them on the night of the feast. She had tried to persuade him to travel West when the time came for rest of the household to depart. He had gently but firmly refused. Since then, however, they had spent a great deal of time together. It was as if an understanding lay between them; they could not change the past and they could not change where their hearts lay, but they would make the most of what time they had left in each other's company.

"Are we ready to depart?" asked Arwen. She seemed calm outwardly, the very image of an austere Elven lady, but she could not fully hide her impatience, much to Nîndorien's amusement.

"Indeed we are, My Lady Undómiel. Your father awaits you, " replied Glorfindel, before turning to Nîndorien as Arwen went to where her father waited. "I hope, _hiril nín_ , that you will do me the honour of riding with me on this journey."

She bowed her head slightly. "Nothing would delight me more, _hîr nín_." She took his arm and he led her down to where her horse stood patiently waiting. She was struck by the excitement in the air, rather like an Elfling walking party. He easily lifted her up onto her horse’s back, before springing gracefully onto Asfaloth.

"I do hope that the Lord Glorfindel is not showing off?" came an amused voice from behind them. Erestor rode towards them, with a smile on his face. He was another who seemed more light hearted since the downfall of Sauron. For the duration of the Third Age, he had been so solemn and grave, but now the sound of his laughter was not uncommon in the corridors of Rivendell. It rather reminded Nîndorien of happier days in the Second Age, when Gil-galad, Erestor and Elrond would tease each other over interminable chess games or engage in heated debates which always ended in laughter but never admission of defeat.

"Indeed not!" cried Glorfindel, laughing. "I wouldn't dare to engage in such antics in the presence of Lady Nîndorien."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Nîndorien responded. "I believe there is a mischievous Elfling buried under that noble exterior. I, for one, would like to know how in Middle Earth Elrond’s horse was found in the furthest pasture this morning, when it had been stabled with the others last night?”

Glorfindel became very silent and stared intently at a nonexistent speck of dirt on Asfoloth’s ear. Laughing, Erestor turned to Nîndorien. "I hope that you would have no objections, _hiril nín_ , if I were to ride with you and the Lord Glorfindel?"

"Of course not!" said Nîndorien delightedly. "You and I have not talked together properly for a long time. Besides," she continued in a mock whisper, loud enough for Glorfindel to hear, "I fear that the Lord Glorfindel and I will not be on speaking terms by the time we reach the Misty Mountains if he continues on in this immature manner!"

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, as if she had insulted him greatly. "I am wounded, _hiril nín_!"

She smiled at him sweetly, before she looked at both Elf-lords seriously. "And I must warn you, if the talk turns to politics, I shall find myself new travelling companions! I had quite enough of such matters in the Second Age."

"I believe, Lord Erestor, that this is going to be a long journey," commented Glorfindel dryly. All three Elves began to laugh, as the procession finally moved off at a stately pace.

****  
 **Translations:** _  
hîr nín_ – my lord  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _meleth nín_ – my love  



	6. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

Ahead of the travellers, the luminescence of the _mellyrn_ of Lothlórien grew stronger. Nîndorien was not sorry to be reaching the end of the first stage of the journey. Although the weather had been pleasant, and the mood cheerful, she longed for a rest and she sensed that she was not alone in this respect. On her left, Glorfindel hummed softly and on her right, Erestor was thoughtfully chewing an apple. The sun had fully set when they arrived in Lothlórien and they were taken directly to Caras Galadhon, while their horses were led away.

One by one, the Elves of Rivendell were presented to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. A great deal of time had passed, even as the Eldar counted it, since Nîndorien had last seen the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. She had not accompanied Arwen when the daughter of Elrond had removed to Lórien many years previously. As she curtseyed gracefully before them, she could hear the sound of Galadriel’s voice in her head. [ _Arise, Lady of Gil-galad; you owe me no such honour. Later you and I shall talk, for I sense that you are still troubled._ ] Surprised, Nîndorien raised her eyes and looked at the smiling Lady of Lothlórien. She returned the smile somewhat hesitantly, and moved to the side with Glorfindel and Erestor, thinking about Galadriel’s words while watching Arwen greet her grandmother with joy.

That evening, there was a great celebration, and the singing and dancing continued late into the night. The music of Rivendell and Lothlórien rose harmoniously in the air, and the Elves were filled with the gladness of sundered kin reunited in celebration. When, at last, all had fallen silent, Nîndorien and Galadriel walked side by side beneath the trees. At first, neither spoke, content to savour the peacefulness of Lórien. Eventually, Nîndorien broke the silence.

"Lothlórien truly has become a beautiful sanctuary, _hiril nín_."

"From one who has spent many years in the refuge of Imladris, that is praise indeed," said Galadriel, smiling. "It is a shame that you did not accompany Arwen when she came here, for I perceive that you love the fair Undómiel, and have given much of yourself to her," Galadriel paused and looked at her companion, before continuing, "but you had need to go to Mithlond, and speak with Círdan, your friend of old."

Nîndorien did not enquire as to how Galadriel knew of such matters, for she had long experience of the Lady's perceptive powers, and knew that she saw further and understood more deeply than most. "Yes, _hiril nín_ , I have loved her since she was an infant and, following the departure of her mother, I have endeavoured to aid her and support her."

"Even as another has aided and supported you." It was not a question and Nîndorien looked at Galadriel sharply, before smiling tentatively. "Indeed, _hiril nín_. Although, I acted out of loyalty and love for the Lord Elrond and his family, not to repay the aid I received from another. "

"I have no doubt that the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower acted out of love and loyalty for the house of Ecthelion, even if other emotions have since swayed his motive. He expects no reward," said Galadriel gently. At this, Nîndorien could not conceal her surprise and looked at Galadriel with wonder. The Lady of Lórien laughed quietly. "Do not fear for him, for his spirit burns with the strength of the slain who live again. He suffers a little, it is true, but his power is so great that he will not succumb to grief or longing. He was born in the bliss of Valinor; he has learned patience and understanding in the Halls of Mandos; he shall heal."

"Your words are comforting, Lady Galadriel, but there is another troubling matter that weighs on my mind. I believe you know of what I speak, but I-"

“Do not clearly understand it yourself?” asked Galadriel softly. Nîndorien remained silent while Galadriel continued. “You are making your peace with the Lord Glorfindel, which gladdens you, but your mind still dwells on another, as it always has and always will. Your sorrows have been heavy of late, and now a new fear has made itself known to you.”

“I fear,” said Nindorien slowly, barely daring to speak the words, “that he has not been released from the Halls of Mandos… that I shall go to the Blessed Realm and he will not be there… that I shall have to wait for another Age of Arda before I see him again… or that, worst of all, he shall never leave Mandos’ care. I do not think that I could bear it, even in the bliss of Valinor.”

She turned to Galadriel, and her fear shone clearly on her face. Galadriel held her gaze for a moment, understanding Nîndorien's thoughts more clearly than her hesitant words. She spoke softly. “I do not have the words to allay your fears but the Mirror may show you what you desire to know. I cannot say what you might see in its depths, but you may find your answer there.”

“My thanks, but I believe I would rather not know anything, than know the worst. At least I can live out my last few years in Middle Earth in the hope that my beloved waits at the journey’s end. I could not enjoy this new-found peace, if I knew that the first and last desire of my heart is never to be fulfilled.”

“As you wish,” said Galadriel. "You speak with the wisdom of one who has waited in hope for years, and knows that, without hope, time weighs heavily." She paused for a moment, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, before proceeding. "But come now, I am sure that you are weary, for the journey from Rivendell is long and although you are stronger than you were, such a voyage still takes its toll.”

“Particularly when one is accustomed to a soft bed every night!” said Nîndorien, in a lighter tone.

Galadriel laughed, a clear and resonant sound that seemed to fill the air. “Well, you shall sleep well tonight. Come, I will show you to your sleeping quarters.”

She led Nîndorien to where the Ladies of Rivendell lay in slumber. Nîndorien wished Galadriel good night, in hushed tones, before lying down on a talan beside Arwen, whose face looked peaceful in the moonlight. She was not accustomed to such accommodation and lay still for a while, looking at the stars through the shifting branches of the Mallorn tree. Galadriel's words passed through her mind just as sleep finally overtook her. " _…without hope, time weighs heavily._ "  
 _  
She could sense his presence, but she was surrounded by mists, and could not see him. Her heart seemed to stop when she felt his breath on the back of her neck, but it may have been nothing more significant than a soft gust of wind. She made to turn around, eager to see him._

_“No, meleth nín, do not seek for me yet.” It was his voice, yet different to her ears, less substantial; like the sound of leaves rustling in the wind._

_“Where are you?” she whispered tentatively._

_He spoke again, and she could detect some amusement in his tone. “Why, I am beside you, as always. My thoughts have never strayed far from you.”_

_“Will I see you again?”_

_Her last question was met with silence, but she had felt his presence and that was enough.  
_  
When Nîndorien awoke the next morning, she could not recall the details of her dream, but she knew that she had spoken with her beloved. Somehow her mind felt peaceful, far removed from the agitation she had felt when she unburdened herself to Galadriel. She wondered if Galadriel had contrived her dream in some way, for she was a great deal less troubled about the future, content to enjoy the peace of the present. Arwen joined her father in the company of Celeborn and Galadriel, while Nîndorien spent the morning with Glorfindel. They walked far, beneath the mellyrn, delighting in the beauty of the trees of Lothlórien. Having walked for some time, they decided to sit for a while beside a swiftly running stream. Nîndorien was feeling pleasantly drowsy, and closed her eyes, listening to Glorfindel speaking of Glingal and Belthil, the trees of Gondolin, wrought by Turgon in the likeness of Laurelin and Telperion. Glorfindel's voice trailed off unexpectedly and Nîndorien's eyes shot open when she heard an unfamiliar voice. Glorfindel greeted the newcomer politely and asked him to sit with them for a while

“Thank you, _hîr nín_. Greetings, _hiril nín_.” A tall fair-haired Elf, dressed in the cloak of Lothlórien and holding a longbow loosely by his side, stood before them. “I am Haldir, Warden of the Northern March.” He bowed low, for he could see that they were of high birth. Both Nîndorien and Glorfindel bowed their heads in return.

“I could not help but hear your praise of the _mellryn_ ,” he said in an apologetic tone. He placed his hand on the trunk of a nearby mallorn and smiled. “We are very proud of the trees of Lothlórien,” he said. “It is said that the first seeds were a gift from King Gil-galad to the Lady Galadriel. If this is true, it was a most generous gift, for these trees have provided us with shelter for many years.”

Nîndorien laughed. “Indeed the tales are true, Haldir of the Northern March.” The Elf looked at her with surprise. “Although perhaps the gift might seem a little less generous, had it been known that the seeds would not take root west in Lindon, greatly vexing Gil-galad. They had come to him from Tar-Aldarion, King of Númenor. I believe that they originally flourished in Eressëa, and had been gifts from the Eldar of that land. Gil-galad sent the seeds to his kinswoman in the hope that she might have better luck. It is well for your people that he did, for he came very close to throwing them into the Gulf of Lhûn, such was his frustration.”

Glorfindel laughed at the surprised look on Haldir’s face. “I apologise, _meldir nín_. It was most remiss of us not to introduce ourselves. I am Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, and my fair companion is the Lady Nîndorien, now of Rivendell, but formerly of Lindon.”

Realisation flooded Haldir’s face when he heard her name, and he bowed once more. “Then you know far more of such things than I, _hiril nín_ ,” he said humbly.

"I may know the history, but you are more blessed than I, having dwelled long in such a place," she replied. Soon, the three Elves sat comfortably by the stream, exchanging anecdotes and tales until the sun had all but disappeared. At last, they rose and parted with regret, for Haldir had to return to his post, and Glorfindel and Nîndorien knew that they had to return to Caras Galadhon, where, no doubt, they had been expected all afternoon to wait on Elrond and his daughter.

They spent seven days in Lothlórien before departing once more. As they left the shade of the trees, Nîndorien marvelled at how the procession had swelled in number. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and a great many of their household now accompanied them, and songs filled the air as they travelled south.

 

***

 

Nîndorien still travelled with Erestor and Glorfindel, and as they travelled through the plains of Rohan, the two Elf-lords soon began to discuss the politics of the Rohirrim. Over a fortnight had passed since they had departed Lothlórien, and Nîndorien was amused that they, who had lived for thousands of years, could not last a mere month without the conversation turning to politics. She glanced back, and at the rear of the procession she could see Arwen talking with her father. Elrond was smiling at his daughter and Nîndorien was pleased to see Arwen’s happiness reflected in his face.

She rode in silence, paying little attention to Glorfindel and Erestor, when her gaze was drawn to two familiar figures riding towards them. She cried out joyfully and, to the surprise of her companions, she spurred her horse on and galloped ahead. Glorfindel glanced at Erestor, and was relieved to see that the other Elf-lord was equally confused. So engrossed had they been in their conversation, they had failed to notice the arrival of the sons of Elrond.

“Elladan! Elrohir! How wonderful to see you!” Still on horseback, the sons of Elrond embraced her, a joyful tangle of limbs and surprised horses. They were as delighted to see her as she was to see them, and immediately demanded that she ride with them to Edoras, once they had greeted their father and sister. “With pleasure,” she replied. “I have had to endure political debate between the Lords Glorfindel and Erestor for many leagues now, and I would far rather hear your tales!” The twins laughed, for long ago they had been taught by their father’s counsellors, and were well aware of their love of argument and debate.

They arrived in Edoras that same day, and Nîndorien sat long into the night with Elladan and Elrohir, listening to their account of the War of the Ring. The tales of such great deeds could not but lift her spirits. She marvelled at the bravery of the halflings, barely able to believe that such small beings had the ability and the determination to bring around the downfall of a Dark Lord, where mighty warriors had failed before them.

They spent two nights in Edoras, to rest and prepare for the last stage of their journey to Gondor. On the evening before their departure, Nîndorien sat with Glorfindel, Erestor and the sons of Elrond in the Golden Hall of Meduseld. They talked of the history of Rohan, but Nîndorien paid little heed to the words, preferring to absorb what she could from her surroundings. The very walls of the Golden Hall were steeped in tradition, and despite the relative youth of the civilisation of Rohan in the eyes of an Elf, they seemed ancient; for many generations had passed, in glorious sorrow and mournful splendour. The Rohirrim were intrigued by the Elves, having had little contact with them in the past. King Éomer had welcomed them warmly, and the sons of Elrond had spoken of him with such high regard that Nîndorien felt predisposed to like him. The Lady Éowyn was more difficult to understand. Her spirit was far removed from Nîndorien's, but the Elf-lady sought to comprehend her nonetheless. From the observations of Elladan and Elrohir, made when they had stopped at Edoras before travelling on the Paths of the Dead, Éowyn had looked upon Aragorn with great love and despaired when they parted. Nîndorien supposed that it was not surprising that a young woman born of such a passionate race would be impressed by Aragorn's royal bearing and mighty deeds. It seemed that the Lady had been touched by some coldness in the days of her uncle's incapacity, and so she had ridden to battle, seeking glory in death. She watched as the White Lady of Rohan laughed at her brother's side, and slowly came to recognise the stubborn strength that lay within the young woman. This wilfulness had been softened of late, Nîndorien thought, and the Lady had found wisdom in Minas Tirith. If the words of Elladan were true, and not just idle hearsay, Éowyn had also found love in the City of Gondor. She seemed to epitomise Nîndorien's image of the Rohirrim; young, proud and valiant.

Before retiring for the night, Nîndorien approached Éowyn. "Greetings, Lady of Rohan. I am Nîndorien of Rivendell, and I wished to make your acquaintance before I departed your fair land. I have heard great praise of your courage and achievements."

Éowyn looked at the Elf-lady with surprise, for she could see that, despite Nîndorien's youthful appearance, her eyes betrayed the sorrows and secrets of many lifetimes. "It is an honour to meet you, my Lady. Please, be seated." She indicated a carved wooden seat beside her and Nîndorien sat down.

"Are you kin of the Lord Elrond and his daughter?" Éowyn asked politely.

"Nay, although I have known them all their lives. I am simply a friend of the House of Elrond, and I have lived long in Rivendell. I have heard of your people, of course, but have never spoken with any of the Rohirrim. It seems that the tales of wondrous achievement in battle are not confined to the men of this kingdom."

Éowyn bowed her head humbly. "I say to you that any glory I receive from my deeds of battle should be shared with the brave hobbit, Meriadoc, for without his aid I would have undoubtedly failed."

Nîndorien smiled at the young woman's humility. "You deserve all the praise you receive, for you faced a great evil and defeated it with little thought for your own life."

"But I must admit that I rode to battle seeking a glorious death; my motives were not completely selfless."

"No deed can be absolutely altruistic. There are few who act without thought for themselves," said Nîndorien thoughtfully. "Every choice is rooted in a certain degree of selfishness, and until desperation takes over and deprives us of choice, we will act according to our own desire or necessity. Even an apparently selfless act can spring from the need to appease one's own conscience."

Éowyn contemplated Nîndorien's words until the Elf spoke again. "Here comes the Lord Glorfindel," said Nîndorien, with a smile on her face and a gently mocking tone in her voice. "He comes to praise your great deed, but he also has reason to thank you personally." She laughed as Éowyn looked at her with surprise.

"Why should an Elf-lord thank me?" she wondered aloud.

"Because it was he who spoke the prophecy that the Witch-king would not be defeated by a mortal man, and although I have argued at length with him as to whether he actually intended to say 'human', he claims that his prophecy has been fulfilled. And he delights in being proven right, as you will presently learn!"

Glorfindel was already laughing by the time he reached the two ladies, for he had heard every word of what Nîndorien had said about him. "Greetings, Lady Éowyn." He pressed Éowyn's hand to his lips before asking innocently, "I hope that the Lady Nîndorien has not been misleading you about my character?"

Nîndorien laughed. "This is the curse of the Elves, my Lady, that we can hear each and every word of a conversation from a great distance, whether it is intended for our ears or not!"

"I do hope, dear lady, that you are not accusing me of eavesdropping?" asked Glorfindel, raising an eyebrow.

"No, indeed, for I can keep no secrets from you, even if I desired it!"

Éowyn watched the exchange with surprise, for she was unused to the nature of Elves; this playful banter seemed at odds with their usual solemn dignity. Glorfindel saw her confusion and said gently. "The Lady Nîndorien and I have known each other far longer than either of us care to admit. At this stage, we feel that we may take such liberties with each other."

Nîndorien suddenly became serious. "Indeed. We have witnessed birth, death, sorrow and joy together." She saw no need to further confuse the maiden of Rohan by adding that this included Nîndorien's birth and Glorfindel's death.

"I hope that I too have found someone of such worth," said Éowyn, smiling as her thoughts turned in the direction of Gondor. "A beloved companion of humour and wisdom; a precious gift."

Nîndorien and Glorfindel looked at each other, realisation dawning on both of them simultaneously. Then Nîndorien smiled, and took hold of Glorfindel's hand. "A precious gift, indeed," she whispered, unwilling to correct Éowyn's misunderstanding of her relationship with Glorfindel. The Elf-lord smiled at her sadly, resignation in his eyes and said. "Ay, a precious gift, but hard-won, and not all live to receive it. Yet, they may dwell in the warmth and light of those who have experienced such happiness."

Shortly afterwards, Nîndorien retired to her lodgings for the evening. Glorfindel walked her to the door and just as he was about to turn away, Nîndorien grabbed his arm.

"I am sorry, _hîr nin_."

Glorfindel looked at her with honest surprise. "Why are you sorry, Nîndorien?" She remained silent. He sighed and kissed her forehead. "Do not apologise for love. Your heart is in the keeping of another; I would not wish to change that. Now rest, for we continue our journey tomorrow, and we still have many leagues to travel together, you and I."

 

***

 

The following day saw the departure of the Elves from Edoras, and the people of Rohan were sorry to see them go. The short time spent in the company of the Elves had filled their hearts and minds with light and joy. Éomer rode with them some of the way, before bidding them farewell. "I shall come to Minas Tirith in time, to bring my beloved uncle to his final resting place. Farewell!"

The Elves made slow progress to Minas Tirith, content to begin their day's travel after sunrise and equally happy to set up camp before the sun slid from view every evening. Eventually, the glimmering city of Minas Tirith could be seen in the distance. Elladan and Elrohir rode to the front of the procession and raised the banner of their father's household. Glorfindel and Erestor took their place behind the sons of Elrond while Nîndorien rode with the other Ladies of Rivendell. And so, on the eve of midsummer, the Lady Undómiel entered the City of Minas Tirith, preceded by many fair Elf-ladies and mighty Elf-lords of Rivendell and Lothlórien. The people of the City could not conceal their awe and witnessing such beauty rendered many of them speechless, although Nîndorien thought she could hear one woman's voice in the crowd. "Indeed, cousin, these are not the first of the Fair Folk I have seen. No, indeed. There is one I saw, who is a Prince of a great wood in the north. He is a dear friend of the King Elessar, they say."

Later that night, after they had been shown to their chambers, Arwen and Nîndorien sat in a cushioned window seat, looking out over the city. Nîndorien knew that Arwen would not sleep this night.

"How strange, that this shall be my home. I shall come to know its secrets, even as I know all the hidden places of Rivendell," Arwen said. She turned to Nîndorien, " _Hiril nín_ , you do not have to wait up with me. I can keep this vigil alone."

Nîndorien laughed. "Those are the very words your mother spoke on the eve of her wedding."

Arwen looked at her with surprise. "You kept vigil with _Naneth_?"

"I did. In her case it had been centuries since she had first laid eyes on your father, and she spent much of the night walking through the corridors of Rivendell, knowing that it would become her home, even as Minas Tirith will become yours."

"Tell me of the first time she met _Adar_ ," prompted Arwen.

"Has your father not told you all about it?" asked Nîndorien disbelievingly.

"He has, but he is not very good at capturing the romance of the moment. He simply says that he first saw my mother amidst the snows of Imladris, but said nothing until after the last Alliance."

"Which was over a thousand years later," added Nîndorien chuckling. "I do believe that Gil-galad and Erestor spent a great deal of time mocking him about his silence on the matter. Very well. I shall tell you the tale as I witnessed it." She sat in thought for a few moments, retrieving the memory from the hidden depths of her mind.

"It was after the winter's first snowfall, and Gil-galad and I had lately arrived in Imladris, for Gil-galad wished to see the work of your father. Your grandfather Celeborn was also there and, on one bitterly cold morning, we were walking in the forests of Imladris. Although it was cold, your father insisted on us seeing the grounds that day because the weather was set to worsen.

"Towards the end of the tour, when all our minds, except for your father's, were turning to the Hall of Fire and warmth, we stood for a while on the bridge over the stream that has since been named Nen Celebrían."

"I know that bridge!" cried Arwen delightedly.

Nîndorien smiled. "Well, as we stood there shivering, your father was proclaiming that Imladris could not be entered without his knowledge. He was waving his hands in the air enthusiastically. Celeborn whispered to Gil-galad and I that the cold weather had affected the Half-Elf's judgment, and he pointed to two shapes in the distance. We duly looked in that direction and saw two Elf-ladies riding serenely along the apparently impregnable path into Imladris. Your father had somehow failed to notice them amidst his wild gesticulations. They rode, side by side, on great white horses. They were unhooded, in spite of the cold, and their hair shone out like beacons, one golden, like the sun, and the other silver, like a star. Celeborn had sensed their coming before they had appeared, of course, and when they came into view, I recognised the fair-haired lady as none other than your grandmother, the Lady Galadriel. I did not know the other lady, for I had not yet met the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn. Your father finally noticed that he no longer had our undivided attention, and turned to the source of the distraction." Nîndorien struggled against the urge to laugh out loud. "At first, a look of pure shock spread across his face, that his defences had been breached, so to speak. He became speechless, a rare occurrence in those days. As we walked towards the ladies, it rapidly became obvious that your father's initial shock had given way to an altogether different expression. He looked upon your mother as though he had never seen an Elf-lady before. Of course, it must be said that there are few who could ever compare to such beauty, but he was clearly smitten from that moment on. I was not the only one who noticed his admiration. Gil-galad nudged me, nodding in the direction of the Lord Celeborn." Nîndorien could not contain her laughter as she recalled the look of appalled realisation on Lord Celeborn's face. "He became decidedly cooler towards your father for many years after that, but I think, after a millennium or so, he eventually adjusted to the idea!"

Arwen laughed. "Perhaps it was fear of my grandfather that prompted my father's long silence!"

"Perhaps, indeed! I think that it was Gil-galad's favourite explanation," said Nîndorien. "But the blessing of a father is always most desirable."

"It is." Arwen bowed her head.

The rest of the night was spent in the telling of tales, the singing of songs and the passing of advice from Nîndorien to Arwen. At last, with the rising of the sun, they began to prepare for the wedding day of King Elessar to his Queen, the beautiful Arwen Undómiel.

 

***

 

Never had the people of Minas Tirith witnessed such a joyous occasion as the wedding day of their King and many had come from miles around to take part in the festivities. The music and laughter of Elves mingled with the joy and songs of Men. Nîndorien sat in comfortably in a corner, near Glorfindel and Erestor. The two Elf-lords had been drawn into a debate, concerning the effectiveness of the Stewardship system, with an elderly nobleman of the City. It was rare for them to face such an obstinate opponent, who stuck to his side so steadfastly. Nîndorien watched the protracted debate with amusement for a while. The combative nature of all three Lords meant that the argument had not ceased since the dessert plates had been cleared from the table. The Gondorian nobleman quite clearly saw no need for a King at all, considering that the last one had ridden off and deserted his kingdom. Nîndorien privately noted that opposition to the King did not preclude attendance at his wedding feast. As she looked around leisurely, watching the other wedding guests, she could hear Glorfindel's argumentative tone as he attempted to convince the nobleman that he had, in fact, known the last King of Gondor, and had tried to persuade him not to ride to Mordor, and that the present King was not to be judged on the misguided actions of his ancestors.

Nîndorien looked at the high table where the King and his new bride sat close together, laughing and talking with their dearest friends. She frowned as she counted only three hobbits, before she caught a glimpse of a fourth curly-haired head resting on the table. Apparently, the halflings had grown unaccustomed to the effects of ale during their travels. Nîndorien's gaze was then drawn to the Prince of Mirkwood and the Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain. They appeared to be bickering over the relative merits of the bow as against the axe but their argument rapidly descended into hearty companionable laughter, much to Nîndorien's surprise. It seemed that the Elf and Dwarf had put aside their differences and, although she hardly dared believe it, they seemed to be true friends. She caught Celeborn's eye, noting that he displayed a similar expression of disbelief but then, she recalled, he always had been distrustful of Dwarves. As she shook her head at the thought of such an unlikely pair, she looked towards Mithrandir, who sat robed in white, in silent discussion with Elrond and Galadriel. He wore the expression of one satisfied that he has reached his journey's end and a sense of peace hung about him that had been absent in the past. Most often, Nîndorien found her gaze returning to the newly married couple. Their joy was unmatched and Nîndorien wished them happiness from the bottom of her heart. Arwen looked at her, and smiled radiantly, in acknowledgement of Nindorian’s unspoken blessing, before she turned back to her husband.

The debate between Glorfindel, Erestor and the nobleman still raged on, and Nîndorien raised her eyes in exasperation before allowing her mind to wander back in time. To her relief, she had more control over the direction of her thoughts and since the time spent in Lórien, she had been untroubled by grievous memories.  
 _  
The sound of harps and flutes filled the air, as a soft sea breeze blew in over Balar. Nîndorien sat beside her husband of a few hours, politely talking to the guests who had come to congratulate the High King and his new wife. Gil-galad’s hand rested lightly on her knee and she could sense his desire. Laughing, she kissed his hand and arose to speak with Círdan who stood some distance away. As she spoke with her old friend, she could feel Gil-galad’s frustration even though he seemed outwardly calm. She knew that his eyes followed her and, in truth, she rather enjoyed this sense of power. Having spoken with Círdan at length about all manner of trivial things, she glanced at her husband and saw his eyebrows rise hopefully. She smiled sweetly in his direction before walking over to join Galadriel, who had travelled a great distance, in a dangerous time, to wish her kinsman joy on his wedding day. Galadriel spoke fondly of her own wedding to Celeborn in Doriath. She did not require her famed perceptive powers to see how Nîndorien was teasing Gil-galad and, although no conspiratorial words passed between them, the two ladies laughed together for a while, drawing out their conversation while watching the High King becoming increasingly restless. Eventually, having spoken to a few more guests, Nîndorien could not ignore her own desire and she returned to her husband’s side. He immediately put an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, “You will not escape so easily this time, loth nín.”_

_She laughed. “I do not intend to escape unless you are with me, aran nín,” she whispered back, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Perhaps they left their wedding feast rather early, but it was not held against them, and the music and dancing continued long after their exit…  
_  
Nîndorien's mind returned to the present and she looked around at the happy faces. For the first time in many years she felt truly content. Elladan and Elrohir approached her with identical broad smiles, and sat on either side of her.

“ _Oiorillë_ , will you not sing? I am sure that our sister would be greatly honoured if you were to grace her wedding feast with a song,” said Elladan, with a familiar wheedling tone in his voice. She laughed, for he had used that voice as a young Elfling, trying to persuade her to sing to them at their bedtime. Unsurprisingly, Elrohir spoke up in support of his brother.

“Please sing, Nîndorien, for we have not heard your voice since the day the Halflings arrived in Rivendell.”

“I can rarely refuse you anything!” laughed Nîndorien as she rose. “I will indeed sing, on one condition.” Their faces displayed similar expressions of concern. “I will sing, if you can persuade Glorfindel to accompany me on the harp.”

The twins sighed, for Glorfindel was still engrossed in matters of great debate with Erestor and the Gondorian nobleman, and he was notoriously difficult to extricate from such situations. However, they tackled the problem with a single-mindedness usually reserved only for battle, and soon Glorfindel had no choice but to yield.

"I knew that I would regret teaching you two the art of debate," he grumbled. "You are a most incorrigible pair!"

Nîndorien took his arm and the pair moved to the centre of the great feast hall of Merethrond. Lindir surrendered his harp to Glorfindel and the hall fell silent in expectation. The two Elves had not discussed what they would sing, for spoken communication seemed unnecessary. Glorfindel began to play an air of celebration and, having listened to the first notes, Nîndorien began to add her voice to the music; singing ancient words of blessing and joy. Not all those present understood the words, but they could not mistake the meaning of the song and one by one all the faces in the room lit up with joy, like a host of stars. The Ringbearer sat in awe, his troubles forgotten as he cradled his injured hand close to his chest. The fourth hobbit, whom Nîndorien identified as the future Master of Buckland, sat up and took notice, his dazed expression clearing. The Sindarin Prince and the Dwarf ceased their playful squabbling and listened in silent admiration. In the very centre of the room, however, the Evenstar was most apparent, shining with her full strength and beauty. As Nîndorien sang, she looked towards Glorfindel and could not mistake the emotion she saw there; sheer contented joy. She knew that her face glowed with the same expression and when they reached the end of the song, she paid no heed to the thunderous applause that swept towards them for it seemed to fall short of where they stood, a peaceful isle in the midst of a stormy sea.

" _Hennaid, hîr nín_ ," she whispered, as he kissed her hand.

" _Hennaid hiril nín_."

***** **  
Translations:  
**  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _meleth nín_ – my love  
 _hîr nín_ – my lord  
 _meldir_ – friend  
 _Naneth_ – mother  
 _Adar_ – father  
 _aran nín_ – my king  
 _loth nín_ – my flower  
 _Oiorillë_ – Ever Brilliant  
 _hennaid_ – thank you


	7. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story set in Rivendell during the War of the Ring. Featuring my very own OFC, Nindorien, as well as many wonderful Tolkien characters. Deals with the exchanging of counsels between the Elves of the House of Elrond.

  
How long the journey took, none could tell, for it was beyond the measurement of time they had reckoned it in Middle Earth. The ship was filled with light and song, and even though Nîndorien never thought she would weary of the sound, she often stood at the prow of the ship, frequently joined by Frodo. Bilbo generally stayed below deck in his cabin, saying that he did not have Brandybuck blood in his veins, and ships were a little foreign to him. When reminded of his journey by barrel, he merely laughed and said that, at the age of fifty, he had been ready for anything, but now that he had passed the Old Took, he believed he should be allowed a few eccentricities.

Nîndorien laughed as she listened to the old hobbit's protests, and moved up to the deck of the great white ship of Círdan. In her hand, she held a small white flower - _simbelmynë_. Glorfindel had given it to her in Edoras, on the return journey to Rivendell after the wedding of Elessar to Undomiel. "It is _Uilos_ ; Evermind," he had said. "It used to grow in Gondolin, ere its fall. It shall not wither. Keep it well, _hiril nín_ , as a reminder when you come to depart these shores," here he touched each of the petals in turn, "A reminder of love, of faith, of sacrifice, of hope, of loss and of peace."

Nîndorien had wept when she had parted from Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond, even though she believed that they would meet again on a distant shore. It had been a strange reversal of roles, departing Rivendell while Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir remained. She recalled looking back at the Last Homely House, as the company of Ringbearers began their final journey in Middle Earth. The Lord Glorfindel had stood, glowing white, an image of splendour and power, between the grave dark-haired sons of Elrond. That image would be engraved in her mind until they met again. She sighed and turned her thoughts to what lay ahead. She felt no trepidation or nervousness; simply a desire to reach the Blessed Realm and feel complete again.

As they neared the journey's end, mists hung about the ship, preventing even Elvish eyes from seeing what lay ahead. This did not dissuade Nîndorien from assuming her usual position at the front of the ship, and with the dawning of a new day, she was certain that shapes were beginning to emerge from the mists. She softly called to Frodo, and he came forward in the ship, and strained to see. After a while, he cried out for the unmistakable shape of land appeared ahead. He held aloft the phial of Galadriel, and its light pierced the mists. And so, the ship came into the Bay of Eldamar, a great light shining from its prow like a star of radiance and hope. They drew up to the harbour, and were amazed to see the throngs of people who waited at the harbourside. Nîndorien's eyes ever searched through the crowds, and she heeded not the joyful cries of Elrond and Galadriel when they saw Celebrían at the front of the crowd.

Then her eyes lit upon the face she most longed to behold. In the midst of the crowd stood Ereinion Gil-galad and in his face shone the light of Valinor. It seemed that the crowd parted and a path led straight to him. Nîndorien set out at a walk, her strides becoming swifter until she was running. All the faces in the crowd seemed to merge into one, and then disappear altogether, when he swept her up in his arms and kissed her. She pulled back and looked upon him, eyes drinking in every detail. He seemed different but she could not see any obvious change to the Ereinion Gil-galad she had known and loved in Middle Earth. His fair face, as she had remembered, was framed by nightblack hair and his dark eyes danced as they watched her, lit by an unseen source. She placed her fingers on his lips, tracing their outline, noting that, as always, they hovered between regal solemnity and captivating joy. He kissed her fingertips and she smiled, although her eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"It is strange, _aran nín_ ,” she whispered, “It is as though I am seeing you for the first time."

"You are," he replied simply as he kissed her again. Then, holding on to one another, they left the crowds far behind, and all that was lost was found.

****

**Translations:**  
 _hiril nín_ – my lady  
 _aran nín_ \- my king

 

 


End file.
